


The Marvelous Misadventures of Peter Parker and Harley Keener

by AuroraLights (CrownPrincessMoon), CrownPrincessMoon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Life Lessons, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, like really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownPrincessMoon/pseuds/AuroraLights, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownPrincessMoon/pseuds/CrownPrincessMoon
Summary: "You're an absolute menace,"  Tony says. "I hope you know that.""But I'm your menace, right?" Harley's smile is pure, concentrated evil and damn it if Tony can't feel himself starting to smile back because he's weak like that and this is not the best way to start an important conversation and potential grounding.Or:The story of how Harley and Peter, disaster duo, learn to navigate the bewildering and hair-raising waters of high school and family whilst dealing with rogue Avengers, secret identities, inconvenient crushes, and a mysterious new threat from OsCorp.





	1. In Which Harley Breaks Tony's Microwave

**Author's Note:**

> Confession time: I never actually watched Iron Man 3 so when I saw the one kid during that one moment in Endgame, I had no idea who he was until my sister told me. 
> 
> I am now obligated to write a story about Harley Keener and Co. with a cute romance sub-plot.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

You see, the thing about Peter Benjamin Parker is that for someone seemingly incapable of keeping his secret identity, well, _secret_, he's pretty good at lying about everything else.  
  
'_Everything else_,' consisting of injuries of the non- and life-threatening variety, how bad the bad guys _really_ are (and _yes_, Peter, serial killing wizards are definitely above your paygrade, and where were these weirdos coming from anyway? He needed to have a talk with Strange soon), the amount of schoolwork he brushed off in favor of helping a cat down from a tree, and literally everything else Tony _needed_ to know for the sake of his sanity (and safety because he still didn't fully trust May to _not_ murder him in his sleep, yet) but Peter refused to tell him because he was a little shit like that and was obviously planning to come into his inheritance early by giving Tony a stress-induced heart attack.  
  
("He kind of reminds me of you."  
  
"Shut up, Rhodey.")  
  
You see, the thing is, Tony is fully aware that there is a _dangerously_, fine line between the benevolent protectiveness that comes with suiting up a hero and taking him on as a protégé—and yeah, Tony can deal with that, it's all business when it comes down to it, really, and he excels at that—and actually _caring_ about what happens to the kid.  
It's that side of the line that scares him the most because already he feels something warm and soft curl in his chest whenever he sees Peter and it's so sickeningly _sweet_ that Tony swears he developed a cavity the first time he felt it.  
  
Which was just. _Ugh_.  
  
(Insert full-body shudder here.)  
  
Tony Stark tries not to get too attached, he really does.  
  
Attachment leads to caring about people. Caring about people leads to loving them. And loving them leads to the inescapable conclusion that they will one day leave you alone and hollowed out.

And most likely trapped in a wormhole in space.

(Okay, so maybe Tony's being a _little_ dramatic, but _still_. It's the truth.)  
  
He's read all the fairytales and watched all the Disney movies about love saving the day or a passionate lip-lock somehow curing the prince of a fatal poison. (Which is _completely_, scientifically impossible, by the way. If anything, the kisser would probably end up _contracting_ the poison themselves. But who's he to ruin someone's childhood?)  
  
The moral of the story being that love wasn't a weakness, but something that empowered you, enabling mothers to lift trucks off their babies and whatnot. (Most likely trucks that he probably dropped on them while trying to "_save_" the world but that was neither here nor there.)  
But, like all things in life, love was a double-edged sword.  
  
Loving people made you weak because when they leave, (and trust him they _always_ do, be it by choice or not) they take pieces of you with them.  
  
So the plan had been to keep Peter at an arm's distance and out of harm's way, but of course, nothing _ever_ goes his way, so here he is in his workshop at four-thirty in the morning re-watching footage of Peter's latest skirmishes while reminding himself that everything he's doing is utterly and perfectly normal and in _no_ _way_ has he crossed that imaginary line in his head.  
  
(On a completely _unrelated_ note, Tony is the king of self-denial.)  
  
In the video, the kid talks way too much, but it's cute how much pure joy he gleans from taking down muggers and bank robbers in a skin-tight spandex suit in the middle of the day.  
  
Weird, but cute.  
  
The smile tugging on the corner of his mouth promptly disappears when someone gets a lucky shot in and it's only through pure luck that Peter manages to avoid being shot in the chest, dodging at the last possible second, and it skims his side instead.  
  
Damnit, kid.  
  
Peter stumbles but regains his footing easily enough to web up both thugs and leave post-it notes on their foreheads.  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony massages the spot on his forehead that feels like drums are being pounded into his skull.  
  
This kid is going to be the death of him.  
  
He mutes the sound on the screen and moves it aside, colors flashing out of the corner of his eye as he brings up a holographic display of what may or may not have been an illegally obtained email about one Harley James Keener to the Rose Hill County School Board. He reads it for what must have the eightieth time since he'd gotten the notification in the middle of a meeting.  
  
(Enter Problem Child #2.)  
  
_...Mr. Harley Keener, despite his notable test scores, is aggressive, defiant, and utterly incapable of showing his teachers or peers respect..._  
  
_...has on several occasions caused explosions in the chemistry lab and started small fires in shop class..._  
  
_...dismantled the engines of several students and administrators for what he claimed to be "an investigation in human stupidity and ingenuity"..._  
  
_...broke several windows with prototypes of his so-called "potato gun"..._  
  
_...after multiple attempts of disciplinary action, the school believes it is in the best interest of the students for Mr. Keener to be expelled from Rose Hill High School..._  
  
Expelled.  
  
"What the actual fuck, Keener?" Tony murmurs under his breath.  
  
"Hey, Tony," The kid in question calls as he descends the steps into his workshop, his telltale drawl slipping through the frosted glass. Friday simultaneously closes the Spider-Man video screen and opens the screen door, letting him in.  
  
Harley, for the most part, hasn't noticed the email, too busy tinkering with something that Tony has a sneaking suspicion once belonged to his microwave.  
  
"Did you take my microwave apart?" He asks, turning around in his seat.  
  
Harley continues as if he hadn't heard him. "Quick question: do you think it's possible to isolate the ionized particles of electricity using a high voltage transformer and then channel that energy into a potato?"  
  
Tony stares. And blinks. Does it again.  
  
"Well?" Harley insists, impatient as always.  
  
"_Nuh-uh_. Me first. Did you take my microwave apart?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Look at me." Tony orders. "Answer again."  
  
Harley does, baby blues glinting mischievously even as he repeats himself, "No."  
  
"You're an absolute menace," Tony says. "I hope you know that."  
  
"But I'm _your_ menace, right?" Harley's smile is pure, concentrated evil and damn it if Tony can't feel himself starting to smile back because he's weak like that and this is _not_ the best way to start an important conversation and potential grounding.  
  
He adopts a more serious expression, trying his hardest to look stern and disappointed but also open and understanding. (These parenting books _obviously_ have no idea how the human face works but Tony decides he might as well give it a shot_._)  
  
Harley notices and frowns, drawing his eyebrows together in concern. "Are you having a stroke?"  
  
What?  
  
"_What?_ No!"  
  
"Oh. What's up with the face then?"  
  
"This is what's up, Keener." He turns in his chair slightly to pull the hologram around, key points of the email already highlighted and circled in bright red.  
  
Harley frowns, then pales considerably, his hands finally stilling on the machinery in his hands.  
  
"Oh. _That_."  
  
"What do you mean, '_Oh. That._' Harley, did you know about this?"  
  
Harley shrugs, avoiding his gaze. "Mr. Anderson may or may not have mentioned something in passing at my last disciplinary meeting."  
  
"_Wha-?_ And you didn't think to tell me?" Tony splutters.  
  
"I didn't think it mattered!" Harley replies, suddenly on the defensive.  
  
"You're being expelled from the only high school in your town, Keener. Of course, it matters." Tony swipes the screen away so he can see Harley more clearly. "And what's with all these infractions? Kid, I knew you were a delinquent in the making but this seems a little excessive. Even for you."  
  
Harley says nothing, his hands moving over the gadget in his hands.  
  
"Talk to me?" He asks, no _pleads_, really.  
  
Harley rolls his eyes, exuding the kind of world-weariness that only an angsty teenager can perfect. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. I'll just apply for college this fall. Problem solved."  
  
Tony scoffs. "You're _kidding_, right? You're a seventeen-year-old high school junior with a rap sheet."  
  
Harley points his screwdriver at him. "Hey, I'm a seventeen-year-old high school junior with a rap sheet who's a fucking _genius_–"  
  
"–_Language_–"  
  
"–And besides, you went to MIT when you were only sixteen. How is this any different?"  
  
"Because I wasn't expelled, Keener. You were and according to this email," he threw a thumb over his shoulder. "You gave them plenty of ammo to do it. I mean, programming the school intercom to play '_Baby Shark_' at all times of the school day. Really?"  
  
"That was pure comedic gold. I was being funny."  
  
"What about when you released twenty frogs from the Biology lab?"  
  
Harley sniffs. "I was doing my part as a PETA ambassador, no more and no less."  
  
Tony raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "And the schoolwide blackout?"  
  
"That had nothing to do with me."  
  
"_Allegedly_," Tony drawls. "But I distinctly remember you asking me about circuitry and wiring that week; something about wanting to test a new invention that needed a sufficient power source."  
  
"Oh?" Harley's leaning back on the table now, aiming for nonchalant and almost succeeding. "I don't remember having that conversation."  
  
"Really, because Friday does, should I have her play it back or–?"  
  
"No, no, no!" Harley exclaims, eyes wide, shooting back up. "Fine. Yes, I admit it. I have been more..._difficult_ lately." He looks pained to admit it.  
  
Tony snorts. "That's one word for it."  
  
"But what kind of teenager doesn't act out every once in a while? I'm only fulfilling the stereotypes put in place by society." Harley makes a motion as if to say, '_You didn't think of that, did you?_'  
  
"Yeah, well, society also tells us it's okay to be ourselves but I don't go out wearing socks and sandals, do I?"  
  
"...Do you want to?"  
  
"What? _Ew_, don't be stupid! Of course not." Tony shakes his head. "The point is, you're not leaving school. I won't allow it."  
  
"You can't do that," Harley says but he sounds unsure.  
  
"Funny," Tony tilts his head. "It almost sounded like you were telling me, the head of a multi-billion dollar company and former Avenger, what I can and can't do."  
  
Harley rolls his eyes but leans into Tony's touch when he swings an arm around his shoulders, leading him out of the room.  
  
"You're being unnecessarily pushy right now. Metaphorically and literally."  
  
"And _you're_ being unnecessarily difficult," Tony retorts. "Why can't you be more like my intern?"  
  
Friday closes the door behind them, lighting the way to the elevators which also opens as they approach.  
  
"Kitchen, Fri," Tony says.  
  
"Yes, Boss."  
  
"You know I'm starting to think that this '_intern_' of yours is nothing but a ploy to get me to think that I have competition," Harley says, picking up the threads of the conversation.  
  
"What competition? There's no competition." The elevator brings them to the kitchen where a steaming pizza sits, most likely delivered by Happy before he went off on his date with May.  
  
"Really? Because I haven't seen or met this mysterious intern. How do I know he isn't a figment of your imagination? Or some kind of reverse psychology technique to get me to behave?"  
  
"He's not," Tony insists, flipping the box open. "I've had him for almost a year now, you just haven’t bothered to come to see me in ages. Peter's a real boy just like you."  
  
Harley snorts. "Then why haven't I seen him yet?"  
  
"He's on a school trip for the weekend. When he gets back, I'll introduce you."  
  
"_Yippee_." Harley rolls his eyes and when Tony glares he adopts an innocent expression. "What?"  
  
"Be nice, Harley."  
  
"When am I not nice?"  
  
"When you're being an ass, coincidentally. The two correspond worryingly well. Peter's a good kid. He doesn't need your sarcasm."  
  
"Everyone needs a dose of Keener sarcasm. They just don't know it yet."  
  
"I'm sure. You know, nowhere in your criminal record did they mention the reason for this." He touches the black mark underneath Harley's eye briefly, changing the subject. "Do I want to know the story?"  
  
Harley shrugs, picking the olives off of his pizza even though _he_ was the one to ask for them. Ingrate. "Lost a fight with a door frame. There isn't much to tell."  
  
Tony hums. "How's your sister?"  
  
"Good. She loves the boarding school she's in, made loads of friends."  
  
"And your mom?"  
  
Something flickers across Harley's expression, too fast for Tony to catch.  
  
"Rehab. Again." His voice is too smooth, too casual, and Tony frowns.  
  
Harley catches his expression and waves a hand at him. "Don't stroke out on me yet, old man, it's fine. I'm staying with my aunt and her boyfriend until she's back."  
  
"Oh. Good." Tony clears his throat and hates himself a little because emotions have never been his strong suit and for the briefest moment, he wishes Cap was here, which, weird.  
  
"Well, until I figure out how to get you back in school," Harley smirks sheepishly and Tony resists the urge to tousle already mused locks. "Maybe you can stay here for the week. Think your aunt would be good with that?"  
  
"Yeah, of course." Harley nods enthusiastically.  
  
"Great." Tony claps. "You may actually get to meet Peter."  
  
"If he exists."  
  
"He does."  
  
"Maybe I'll meet Spider-Man, too."  
  
Tony almost chokes and quickly covers it up by popping the cap on his root beer and swigging it down. "Yeah. Maybe."  
  
"So what's Patrick like?"  
  
"Peter." Tony corrects.  
  
"If you say so."  
  
"I do say so. So does his birth certificate. Because he was _born_, you know, like a _real person_." Tony snarks before getting the conversation back on track. "He's a lot like you, actually; scary smart for his age. He's more of a biochemist than anything else but he isn't lacking in any other departments either."  
  
"I'm failing to hear the part where he's better than me and I thought replacements were supposed to be that," Harley interjects, expression curiously innocent, and this time Tony really does mess with his hair.  
  
"For starters, he isn't as much of a little shit–"  
  
"–_My hair_–!"  
  
"And second, neither of you are replacements for the other, ok? I want you guys to be friends. Is it too much to ask for you to be civil?"  
  
Harley levels him with a deadpan stare that reminds him so much of himself it's almost terrifying.  
  
"Fine. Fake it if you have to. Just don't make him cry. I will not be held liable for your death if his scary friend and aunt attempt to dismember you."  
  
"I will. Scout's Honor." Harley raises his hand and Tony pushes it back down.  
  
"Please. You've never been a scout for a single day in your life."  
  
"Pinky promise then?" Harley holds out the digit and grins, wiggling it.  
  
Tony rolls his eyes but acquiesces. "You're fucking weird, kid."  
  
"You missed me though." Harley's smile is wicked and this time Tony does smile back.  
  
He really did.


	2. In Which Peter Wears Hello Kitty Pajamas (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony snorts. "Don't believe anything he says, Peter. He's a spawn of Satan. Little munchkin broke my microwave the first day he got here."
> 
> "Well, you broke into my garage the first time you came to my house." He spreads his hands out. "Consider this evening out the scoreboard."
> 
> "'Breaking in' is such a strong way to put it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why don't we call this a celebration chapter for Spider-Man being back in the MCU? (_Ignores the fact that it's nearly a week later._)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Your bodyguard's here or whatever." MJ nods to something over Peter's shoulder and he glances back to see Happy pull into the driveway in one of Tony's less conspicuous cars (which is to say, not very conspicuous _at all_ but at least it wasn't fire hydrant red).  
  
"You know he's not actually my bodyguard, right?" Peter asks, rising from the steps of the school and shouldering his duffle bag.  
  
"You know I don't actually care, _right_?" MJ parrots his tone before looking back down at her book. "Loser."  
  
"Well, Peter's right." Ned agrees, the faithful friend that he i—"He's May's _boyfriend_, not his bodyguard."  
  
Scratch that. Ned is the worst friend ever.  
  
"_Ugh_." Peter shudders, shaking his head. "Don't _say_ that, man. It's weird enough having to see them together. And besides, May says they haven't put a label on it yet. They're just seeing how they fit—whatever that means."  
  
"Hmm. Obviously, she's the pants of the relationship." MJ intones dryly, a slight smile curving her lips.  
  
"Obviously." Ned and Peter say simultaneously and they exchange grins. Their handshake is just beginning when it's interrupted by Happy honking the car horn twice.  
  
"Gotta go!" Peter skips down, careful to stumble over the last few steps as he has taken to do to maintain a clear divide between him and his other identity. In his haste, however, he ends up _actually_ tripping over the last step and Happy has to rush to catch him.  
  
"_Christ_, kid," Happy admonishes, gripping his shoulders. "Are you trying to break your neck? Your aunt would kill me. And then Tony would resurrect me just to do it again."  
  
"Sorry." He grins, breathless, handing his duffle over. He turns back around, "Bye, Ned! Bye, MJ! See you guys tomorrow!"  
  
The former waves an equally enthusiastic goodbye whilst the latter only flips him off, her stony facade betrayed by the subtle warmth in her eyes.  
  
"You coming?" Happy asks and Peter climbs into the back seat, drawing a belt over his chest while Happy clambers in and starts the engine.  
  
"The boss wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." Midtown disappears from the rearview mirror as Happy takes a right on Solitude. "Someone get impaled or something?"  
  
"Or something." Peter agrees vaguely, fighting a smile.  
  
"You wanna try that again?" Happy asks, raising an eyebrow at him in the mirror. "Maybe with words and an actual explanation?"  
  
"Do you actually care or do you just wanna know if there's anything you can snitch to May and Tony?" Peter raising his own eyebrow back.  
  
"You call it snitching, I call it doing my job." Happy shakes his head. "Which means keeping you and/or your secret safe. So tell me: anything we need to worry about? Why was that Flash kid on crutches?"  
  
Peter rolls his eyes. "Don't worry. Neither I nor Spider-Man had anything to do with that."  
  
The trip had ended early because Flash had twisted his ankle being a pompous ass, as usual.  
  
The idiot had been showing off at the hotel pool and had the bright idea to push Peter into the deep end from where he'd been standing with Ned and MJ. Instead, Peter's spider-sense kicked in, moving him out off Flash's reach and sending the boy tumbling into the water headfirst.  
  
Peter wishes he could feel bad but something about watching Flash's prank backfire in his face was _deeply_ satisfying.  
  
"May's taking an extra shift at the shelter so it's up to the boss to watch you tonight." Happy's voice pulls him out of his head, and Peter will _never_ get used to Happy being privy to information like that now that he's dating his aunt. Almost as much as he will never get used to May trusting Tony enough to watch him, in spite of the whole Spider-Man debacle. "You want to pass by a burger joint before I drop you off?"  
  
"While a burger does sound great," Peter grins, feeling his stomach rumble on cue. "I'd rather I get something to eat at the mansion. See, there's this upgrade to the suit that I want to work on and at first, I didn't know how I was going to implement it but then at that physics museum we were visiting I realized that with the right formula I could-"  
  
"Take a breath, kid." Happy interrupts, eyes fond even as he rolls them. "It's like all of your words are racing to see which one will come out first."  
  
Peter flushes red to his ears. "Sorry."  
  
They finally arrive at Tony's mansion, a three-story smart house made of glass and steel that not only had Friday installed but a fully-functioning lab and garage, as well. (There are also the several empty guest rooms that Peter pretends not to know add up to the number of the original Avengers.)  
  
Peter had liked looking at Avengers Tower back when it was the home to Earth's Mightiest Heroes and the coolest structure in Manhattan barring the Empire State Building. The idea of just existing in the same state as his idols was enough to send him into cardiac arrest as a kid.  
  
It had been a monument to everything good in the world.  
  
And then Germany happened and Tony sold the building. To get rid of the bad memories, Happy and Pepper had explained but sometimes...S_ometimes_ Peter wonders if Tony sold the Tower to get rid of all the good memories too. (He knows from experience that the memories that made you smile hurt more than the ones you wished you could forget.)  
  
And although Tony _technically_ moved into the Compound and Peter _technically_ has a room there larger than the apartment suite he shares with May, he still prefers the mansion on 5th Avenue.  
  
It's closer, for one, to Midtown and Queens and May. Tony isn’t there very often but Peter likes to think that when he's more at peace there than at the Compound, surrounded by all the things that used to make him happy before life got complicated. He never really seems to mind that Peter lets himself in to do his homework or improve his webbing in the lab, or wander the halls of the mostly abandoned mansion wondering about the locked doors he could open if he wanted to but chooses not to.  
  
He has a room there, too. (And no, something about that doesn't make Peter feel unreasonably happy. It's just a room. _Obviously_.)  
  
Happy drops him off at the door and pulls out of the driveway to run some errands—something about having to buy a microwave(?)—leaving Peter to re-shoulder his duffle and let himself in.  
  
"Good evening, Mr. Parker. How was your trip?" Friday asks as she shuts the door behind him.  
  
"It was...eventful. Is Mr. Stark in?"  
  
"Boss is currently taking a call in his office with Secretary Ross."  
  
"Oh." Peter blinked. "Should I wait or...?"  
  
"Boss has previously informed me that anyone is welcome to interrupt his conversations with the secretary. In fact, he encourages it."  
  
"Really? Cool." Peter bounds down the hallway and skids to a stop in front of Tony's office, a see-through room with floor-length windows and several computers on a curved, wooden desk.  
  
He finds Tony inside, pacing back and forth like a cat while he tosses a rubber ball between his hands.  
  
He has a StarkPhone headset in his ear, nodding along to whatever Secretary Ross is saying even as he rolls his eyes and looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.  
  
"Yeah, no, I hear you loud and clear, Ross...Yes, I am taking notes..._I totally am!_... Yeah, and how would _you_ know, huh?"  
  
Peter knocks on the glass wall to signify his presence and Tony jumps a little before honing in on him. He pantomimes a heart attack before straightening up with a wink, his eyes glinting mischievously behind red-tinted glasses.  
  
"What, I'm still listening. You were talking about that one thing, right? That thing with Clause 65?...What do you mean we stopped talking about that _an hour ago?!"_  
  
Peter laughs a little and waves, used to Tony's antics.  
  
Tony waves back, points at his phone, then mouths the words, "_talk in a minute_."  
  
Peter nods and continues down the hall for the stairs, taking them two at a time for the second floor where his room resides.  
  
He nudges his door open with his hip, throwing his duffle down on his unmade bed and kicking off his shoes. He quickly changes into a pair of Hello Kitty pajama pants (sue him—they're super comfortable) and an SI t-shirt before he leaves.  
  
He makes his way past the living room and into the kitchen and—  
  
—There's a _kid_ in the kitchen.  
  
Sitting at the island countertop with something in his hands that looks worryingly similar to a homemade detonator. Every once in a while he stops to make a note on the blueprint paper next to him but for the most part, he remains focused on the tech in his hand.  
  
"Um," Peter says involuntarily and the kid looks up, freezing Peter in the entryway and causing him to feel very much like an intruder even though _he's_ the one with a bedroom upstairs.  
  
He takes in messy, dark blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a crooked grin that straddles the line between playful and mocking. There's a bruise fading underneath his right eye.  
  
"Huh. Who would've guessed it? You're real." He says, almost to himself, and Peter blinks at the southern drawl lining his words.  
  
"Um," Peter repeats because the English language has finally decided to take its revenge on him for butchering it and ditch him today.  
  
"I could've sworn the old man was making you up." He shrugs then, turning back to his blueprints and tinkering like he hasn't just confused the hell out of Peter.  
  
"I'm sorry, b-but who are you?" Peter finally manages to stutter out.  
  
"I'm Tony's son, _obviously_." There's an eye-roll in that sentence that Peter decidedly does not appreciate but that problem takes a backseat to the one currently sitting in front of him.  
  
"But...You can't be."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"What?" Peter's confused.  
  
"Why can't I be Tony's son?"  
  
...And there are so many things Peter can say to that. Ranging from the fact that Harley's blonde hair and blue eyes are recessive traits and therefore do not make sense if Tony was his father to the fact that Mr. Stark has never mentioned him before in the history that Peter has known him.  
  
He settles on the obvious.  
  
"Mr. Stark doesn't have kids."  
  
"How do you know? Does _Dad_ tell you everything?" Harley still hasn't looked up from his blueprints and Peter's grateful for that at the moment because something inside him squeezes painfully at the thought of this random kid getting to call Tony '_Dad_' and Peter mentally berates himself.  
  
Harley finally does look up again, eyes piercing. "You're not very talkative, are you?"  
  
"I've...Mr. Stark's never mentioned you."  
  
"Funny, 'cause he's mentioned you. He calls you his protégé—_big word, right?_—but he must have forgotten about me, huh?"  
  
"I..." Peter feels horribly wrong-footed, like stepping onto the next step in a staircase and finding empty air instead. He swallows and feels like he's forcing bees down his throat, stingers and all.  
  
"I am _loving_ the outfit by the way. I wish I had the confidence to work Hello Kitty the way you do." And Harley's smile is definitely mocking now, more unkind than not.  
  
Peter feels his face turn beet red and he can't even begin to formulate a reply because his thoughts are turning into intangible wisps of nothing as his anxiety crawls up, and Tony finally—_relievingly_—walks in, his call with the Secretary apparently over.  
  
"Peter, there you are." He ruffles his hair on the way to the coffee machine. "I see you've met our resident menace."  
  
"Kinda." Peter chokes. Harley shrugs.  
  
"Well, to make it official." Tony swings an arm around his shoulder and nudges him forward. "Peter Benjamin Parker meet Harley James Keener."  
  
"Pleasure," Peter says automatically, his proper upbringing kicking in as he raises a hand and Harley raised an eyebrow before returning the gesture.  
  
"Likewise."  
  
"Keener," Peter repeats, looking back at Tony. "So, he isn't your son?"  
  
"My son?" Tony looks both amused and bewildered. "Who gave you that awful idea? Was it this little demon?"  
  
"Please." Harley snorts, flipping his hair back. "You should be so lucky as to be biologically related to me."  
  
Tony snorts. "Don't believe anything he says, Peter. He's a spawn of Satan. Little munchkin broke my microwave the first day he got here."  
  
"Well, you broke into my garage the first time you came to my house." He spreads his hands out. "Consider this evening out the scoreboard."  
  
"'Breaking in' is such a strong way to put it."  
  
"And how would you phrase it?" Harley parsed dryly.  
  
"Seeking shelter from a homicidal maniac in the first safe haven that happened upon me by divine intervention."  
  
Harley shrugs. "That sounds a lot like you're just dressing up breaking and entering with fancy words."  
  
"Yeah, well..."  
  
The rest of Tony's words are drowned out by the buzzing in Peter's ears, steadily growing louder as he struggles to keep his anxiety in check.  
  
_Breathe_. He needs to breathe.  
  
—Except it's getting a lot harder to do that and _who the hell was this kid?_  
  
"—ight, Peter?" Tony asks, startling him and he blinks a couple of times to recalibrate himself.  
  
"I...What?" He asks.  
  
"You're not a very good listener, either." Harley hums, head tilted to the side. "I'm curious. How _do_ you function in human society?"  
  
"Harley," Tony's voice is chiding. "Lay off a little. He hasn't built a tolerance for you yet."  
  
"Said like I'm a disease."  
  
"An _infectious_ one." Tony corrects.  
  
Harley rolls his eyes but seems to understand, despite Peter’s initial thoughts of him being a complete and utter ass. He leans back in his chair with a teasing grin and wandering eyes, tapping out a rhythm with his pencil.  
  
“Sorry, sorry. I just get carried away some times. Especially when I’m nervous.”   
  
_Nervous?_ Peter wants to laugh.  
  
Harley looked nothing of the sort—all blonde hair, blue-eyed perfection with a sharp, sugar-sweet smile that confuses the hell out of him because how was that even _possible_?  
  
No, it was _Peter_ who was nervous and anxious and angry and about five seconds from a panic attack. Nervousness was nothing compared to the whirling thoughts threatening to drown him at the moment.  
  
“Anyway,” Mr. Stark interrupts before Harley or Peter can say anything—although, Peter doubts he can still _say_ anything. “Harley’s staying for the week while I work something out for him back home. Maybe the two of you can work together in the labs? Cook up something cool but. You know. Not radioactive."  
  
"But things are more fun when they glow green." Harley pouts and Peter's almost tempted to laugh.  
  
"That's...actually not true," Peter says, and _what do you know_, he is still capable of human interaction. "In reality, the alpha and/or beta particles from the radioactive material—i.e. radium, promethium, or tritium—strike molecules of a phosphor, typically zinc sulfide, which then emits green."  
  
Harley looks vaguely impressed which Peter couldn't care less about, his attention already turning towards Tony who nods his approval.  
  
"Told you he was smart." His mentor leans back against a wall, cradling his cup.  
  
Peter feels his face glow.  
  
Harley shrugs. "Maybe, but which one of us is wearing Hello Kitty?"  
  
Tony blinks a couple of times then looks at Peter appraisingly.  
  
Peter has only just met Harley James Keener — and he's already having trouble deciding which of their heads he wants to slam into a wall.

  
  
—

  
  
“It was nice meeting you, Peter.” Harley's smile is something half-formed and Peter really cannot with this guy. "But I've got to go to sleep before I pass out. Jet lag and all that."  
  
He smiles tightly while Mr. Stark crows, "Don't let the bed bugs bite."  
  
Harley rolls his eyes and disappears into the living room, his footsteps carrying him up the stairs.  
  
“So, kid,” Mr. Stark turns to him, his eyes bright and excited. “What did you think?”   
  
“He’s...” _Arrogant, cocky, mean, ruining my life by existing_. “Nice.”   
  
He must have not done a good job of lying though because Mr. Stark suddenly ducks his head to peer beneath Peter's fringe, his expression going through a million different emotions before his eyes go soft and concerned.  
  
"You okay, kid?"  
  
"What? Yeah. I'm great." Peter forces a smile that tastes like plastic and Tony raises an eyebrow in response.  
  
"You know you can talk to me, Pete."  
  
Peter hesitates. "...Of course, I do."  
  
Tony sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Harley's a bit much, I'll admit, but he's a good kid. He just takes some time getting used to and if you hate him completely by the end of this week, well, it's not like you're going to be seeing him again anytime soon."  
  
Peter's smile goes a little more genuine at that, remembering that Harley was from a completely different state and therefore, not any real competition. Not that he thought he was, to begin with.  
  
"Yeah, you're right." He gives a little chuckle. "I mean, it's not like I'm going to school with him."  
  
"Yeah, that would be...That would crazy." Tony's gaze is far away, gears turning behind his eyes, and Peter waves a hand in front of him. "_Huh_."  
  
"Are you okay, Mr. Stark?" He asks.  
  
"_Wha—?_ I'm fine. Sorry, just thinking about something."  
  
"What did Secretary Ross want?" Peter asks, changing the subject.  
  
"Nothing he's gonna get." Tony deflects, moving into the living room with his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Now c'mon. Let's get the _Empire Strikes Back_ playing. Fri?"  
  
"On it, Boss."  
  
Peter settles next to him on the couch, fatigue catching up to him even as the title screen begins to roll. Before his eyes shut completely, he thinks he hears Mr. Stark murmur.  
  
"For the record, kid: I think you look pretty good in Hello Kitty pajamas."


	3. In Which Harley Conquers Midtown in a Day (And Dethrones Flash)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He raises his hand first, smiles politely when called upon, and makes the valiant effort to keep his snarky comments at bay (and really he deserves a godamn metal for that because at this point the sarcasm he's keeping under lock and key is starting to eat at his stomach lining.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about splitting this chapter up but then decided to just post it all together so I hope you enjoy this extra-long chapter!!!  
❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Harley's one week stay with Tony (or, as he likes to call it, the _Tony Stark Experience_) goes a little something like this for the most part:  
  
**9:00 AM** — After a night of half-dreams and vague nightmares, Harley manages to rouse himself awake (said as if Friday hadn't disabled his snooze button after he hit for the seventh time, the traitor). He makes his way downstairs around the same time Tony is coming out of his lab from the elevator. (Harley's usually pretty good at determining whether Tony spent the night there or just decided to get an early start that morning. The former happens more worryingly often than not.)  
  
**9:15 AM** — Tony drinks the coffee leftover from his last trip to the kitchen (which, _gross_, by the way—that thing could be anywhere from an hour to eight hours old) and Harley eats whatever he finds in the fridge, usually the donuts Happy leaves behind before disappearing off to run errands and the like.  
  
("I'm going to have a talk with Happy soon," Tony eyes the extravagantly dressed donut in Harley's hand with disgust. "That can _not_ be healthy."  
  
"I doubt the dying remains of a cheeseburger with day-old coffee is any better."  
  
"Blasphemy.")  
  
**10:00 AM** — Harley's hair is still damp from his shower when they retire into the garage after breakfast. There, Tony draws up blueprints for Iron Man upgrades and Harley admires the absolutely gorgeous engines of Tony's numerous cars and begs to take one out for a spin. The results are usually disappointing but Harley likes to think he's wearing him down.  
  
("No." Tony's not even looking at him this time.  
  
"_I haven't even asked yet!_"  
  
"I can feel you looking at her—Stop it."  
  
"C'mon! I'll give you-" He scrambles for something, anything. "I'll give you the blueprints to my potato gun!"  
  
"It's cute that you think I need the blueprints to anything."  
  
"But–" Harley's about to get on his knees.  
  
"Give it up, Keener. There's nothing you currently have that I want."  
  
Silence.  
  
"...What about my firstborn child?")  
  
  
**11:45 AM** — Lunch happens when Pepper arrives, usually to scold Tony for working so hard and being a bad example before convincing them to eat the food she brought.  
  
("Pepper, my love, have I ever told you that you are the celestial body of which my world revolves?"  
  
A tired sigh and Pepper Potts really is a goddess among men when it comes to self-control because she simply rolls her eyes and pushes some papers in Tony's direction.  
  
"Eat your salad, Tony.")  
  
**1:00–5:00 PM** — Sometimes, Harley spends _hours_ with Tony and they lose themselves in the workshop, their ideas feeding off of one another until somehow they've managed to prototype a robot that simply exists to tie people's laces together. Other times (most times), Tony is drawn into "Avengers business" as he puts it. Also known as "_keep-your-ass-out-of-my-office-Keener_" time. When that happens, Harley wanders the halls of the mansion, talking with Friday and studying the numerous pictures of Peter Parker hidden in plain sight all over the house. He wonders how he didn't notice them before.  
  
("How did they meet?" He asks today, looking over one with Tony and Peter standing at what looks to be a science fair of some sort.  
  
Peter has a blue ribbon on his display.  
  
"Boss stumbled upon Mr. Parker's work by accident and grew quite interested in him. He tracked him down and offered him an internship at SI." Friday replies.  
  
"Huh.")  
  
**7:00–11:00 PM** — Their evenings are usually laden with bad jokes and snarky remarks until it's time to sleep and Harley does so more peacefully than he has in a long time. (It helps to not have drunken yelling and brawls outside. Or inside.)  
  
Overall, it's...nice. Really nice.  
  
<strike>Harley doesn't want to leave.</strike>

  
  
*~*

  
For someone branded as being unpredictable and volatile, Tony sticks to a pretty strict schedule, especially when coffee is involved and the pot that Harley made about thirty minutes ago is still steaming when the inventor emerges from his lab at seven PM on the dot with sleeves rolled up and welding goggles in his hair.  
  
"Welcome to the land of the living," Harley greets around a mouth full of pizza, and Tony simply throws something in his direction.  
  
"What's this?" Harley asks, studying the brochure Tony has just tossed onto the counter on his dash for the coffee machine. It's a routine by this point and if it were anyone else, Harley would seriously consider tripping them.  
  
Cap, maybe. He'd like that. Tony would too, maybe.  
  
Tony doesn't answer, just grunts and waves a hand in his general direction.  
  
Rolling his eyes, he scans the front page: Midtown School of Science and Technology, it reads.  
  
"What is this?" Harley asks again when Tony seems more awake.  
  
"A high school." Tony shrugs.  
  
"Well, no shit. Why'd you give it to me?"  
  
"Give it a gander and let me know what you think. It's a good school—one of the best in the nation. The kids there are as smart as you. Maybe smarter.  
  
"Doubtful." But Harley's attention has been peaked, flipping through the pages and reading the programs available.  
  
"You like it?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess."  
  
"Good. You're going tomorrow."  
  
Harley nearly does a spit take. "I'm sorry, I think I don't think I heard you. Run that by me again?"  
  
Tony rolls his eyes. "Drama queen. I'm sending you to Midtown, kid."  
  
"Wha—? _Why?!_"  
  
"Because it'll be a good experience. Healthy and enriching and all that."  
  
Harley levels him an unimpressed look.  
  
"Fine. I had a talk with the district superintendent of the bumfuck-of-nowhere, Tennessee and lucky for you, she's of the belief that all kids deserve a chance to succeed, no matter what their issues. Unlucky for you, your principal has her damn near convinced you're an agent of Hydra who kills puppies in his free time."  
  
Harley winces. "That bad?"  
  
"Worse." Tony deadpans. "So I made a deal with her: go one full day in any high school as a good, little student and you're back in Rose Hill High."  
  
"Really? Just like that?"  
  
"Just like that."  
  
Harley looks back down and wonders why the school symbol looks so familiar and then remembers finding a sweatshirt on top of the dryer.  
  
"Wait—isn't this Peter's school?"  
  
"Yeah. So what?"  
  
"Peter hates me." He says it like it's a fact because it kind of is.  
  
Tony doesn't agree.  
  
"Peter is incapable of feeling or conveying any negative emotion, _whatsoever_," Tony says, rolling his eyes. "Therefore, he doesn't hate you."  
  
"We haven't seen him all week." Harley points out.  
  
"He has school."  
  
"Happy said he usually visits every day."  
  
"Happy's a liar."  
  
"And yet _you're_ the one I don't believe."  
  
Tony sighs. "Fine, he isn't..._overly fond_ of you, but you can hardly blame him. He's a delicate flower and you have the personality of a steamboat."  
  
"That is strangely not the weirdest thing I've been compared too." Harley throws the pamphlet back down.  
  
"I'll bet," Tony says dryly. "Give him some time. He'll come around."  
  
_What if I don't want him to?_ Harley doesn't ask. _What if I want us to stay like this?_  
  
"We haven't talked about that night, have we?" Tony is trying too hard to be casual now, remaining slouched against the counters and tapping his fingernails against his mug.  
  
"Do we _have_ to?" Harley nearly whines. He feels like a child being scolded for not sharing his toys.  
  
"Unfortunately, _yes_. What was all that—the snide remarks, the backhanded compliments? You're better than that."  
  
"I thought we'd established I was a little shit." Harley picks at the fraying edge of his t-shirt.  
  
"Yeah, but you were kind of out of line there." Tony's eyes narrow in concern and Harley notices for the first time the dark circles underneath them."You doing okay?"  
  
Harley feels a little bad for lying but not enough to stop himself. "Fine. I just...you know...was nervous. You know how I get when I'm nervous. My brain to mouth filter stops working and I can't stop."  
  
Tony grimaces."So, this is you with the filter? Yikes, kid."  
  
"People in glass houses." Harley reminds him.  
  
"I'm a billionaire—I can afford not to have a filter. And a glass house. And besides, that's what Pepper and Rhodey are for."  
  
"Damage control?" Harley feigns innocence, and Tony steals the half-eaten pizza off his plate in retaliation.  
  
"_Hey!_"  
  
"Sorry, I have a rule about feeding know-it-alls."  
  
Harley rolls his eyes and grabs another slice from the box while Tony settles back on the counter. The atmosphere has changed a little, more relaxed than before.  
  
"Just...try and makeup with him, ok? You know I don't usually endorse this kumbaya hand-holding stuff, but I think you and Peter would get along great if you give each other a chance."  
  
Harley nods reluctantly. "I'll try."  
  
"Thank you." Tony sounds more sincere than Harley has heard him in a while and Harley performs a quick double-take.  
  
The mechanic looks tired.  
  
Unfortunately for Tony, Harley keeping his ass out of the office doesn't entail not listening in from his room on his modified StarkPad. Today's conversation with the Secretary had dissolved into a screaming match.  
  
"What did Ross want this time?" He asks.  
  
"_Secretary_ Ross. Show some respect, kid."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"_Touché_." Tony shakes his head. "Nothing that concerns you."  
  
"Then what's the harm in me knowing about it?"  
  
Tony scoffs. "None, really, but I can't be sharing government secrets with expelled high school delinquents, now can I?"  
  
Harley points his pizza at him. "Low blow, Stark."  
  
"Not low enough apparently. Friday caught you trying to apply to MIT."  
  
"Really, Friday? You're spying on me now?" Harley feels extremely disgruntled—he thought they were friends.  
  
"Sorry, Mr. Keener. But I monitor all the screens in the house." Friday at least has the decency to sound remorseful and Harley's already on his way to forgiving her.  
  
"You know, I think that's illegal."  
  
"Is it?" Tony raises an eyebrow. "Show me where I should give a shit."  
  
"What if I was watching porn?" Harley challenges. "Would you tell Mr. Stark then?"  
  
"Don't answer that, Friday. He's trying to change the subject."  
  
"Pot meet kettle." Harley snips, taking the opportunity to direct the conversation. "What did Secretary Ross want? He's been bothering you all week. Does he usually breathe down your neck like this?"  
  
"No, he prefers to keep his distance because I am, and I quote, capable of driving _Gandhi_ to commit murder."  
  
"He compared himself to Gandhi? Man must be full of himself."  
  
"Like you wouldn't believe. And to answer your other question, we're having some slight... _disagreements_ with the accords. He wants something he can't have in exchange for some changes."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Classified."  
  
"I didn't care anyway." Harley tries and probably fails to look unaffected.  
  
"Sure, you didn't." Tony hops down from the counter and nods over at the door. "C'mon. Let's go set something on fire so Dum-E will have something to do for the night."  
  
It's Tony's way of apologizing and making up to him for a number of things probably (making him go to school, not hanging out with him earlier, etc.) and Harley accepts the offer with open arms.  
  
"Ok." Harley grins, jumping up.  
  
<strike>He really, really doesn't want to leave.</strike>

*~*

The next morning is a struggle.  
  
Sleeping and waking up whenever he wanted had taken its toll on Harley; waking up at 7:15 in the morning is nothing short of torture and he immediately regrets agreeing to go to school.  
  
He burrows himself underneath his covers and attempts to hibernate.  
  
"Rise and shine, kid!" Tony's voice is disgustingly chipper and Harley only groans.  
  
"I change my mind. I want to be a high school delinquent."  
  
"Aw. You think you have a choice. Now wake up before I have Friday turn the sprinklers on."  
  
"_Arghh!_" Harley rolls across his bed until he falls in a tangle of covers and bed sheets on the floor. As he tugs his limbs free, he casts a glance across his empty room.  
  
"Tony?" He calls, confused.  
  
"Yes?" His voice comes from the ceiling and Harley relaxes a little knowing that he isn't going completely crazy waking up this early.  
  
"Nothing." He shakes his head as he stretches. "Promise not to give me hypothermia if I go take a shower?"  
  
The ceiling is worryingly silent.  
  
"Friday?"  
  
"I'll try my best to stop him, Mr. Keener."  
  
"Great." He drags himself into the bathroom.  
  
A cool shower wakes him up further (courtesy of Friday and Harley suspects Tony, by proxy) and he spends five minutes after combing through his hair until he achieves the '_artfully tousled_' look he has all but trademarked by now.  
  
He leans closer to the mirror when brushing his teeth, taking in the faded bruise under his eye. He's more than relieved that Tony wasn't more suspicious when he arrived—that he didn't ask questions that Harley would rather not answer.  
  
Another day or so and it would be all cleared up. Harley could forget it even happened. (He has a feeling _they_ already have.)  
  
He pulls on a pair of dark jeans and a clean, white t-shirt from his duffle bag before grabbing a dark brown leather jacket off the dresser—it smells of rose perfume, pine needles, and another smell he had yet to recognize and still isn't sure he wants to.  
  
("I don't want _anything_ that belonged to him." He had spat venomously when he discovered where it was from.  
  
His mother's smile was sad, blue eyes pale. "He always planned on giving you this, believe it or not. It's your choice."  
  
In the end, he took it anyway.)  
  
He nearly trips and breaks his neck attempting to pull on his boots and go down the stairs at the same time. He survives—_thankfully_(?)—and makes a beeline for the kitchen and–  
  
–Peter is there.  
  
Sitting at the marble island with a bowl of Fruit Loops and dressed in a sweater vest and blue jeans, his hair looking for all the world like someone had run their hands through it then just gave up in despair.  
  
He looks surprised by Harley's presence but not necessarily startled.  
  
"Um. Hi."  
  
"When did you get here?" Harley asks.  
  
"Um...ten minutes ago?" He shifts in his stool, uncomfortable. "Mr. Stark said he needed to see me before I went to school."  
  
Harley narrows his eyes. "You don't know why?"  
  
"Um, no?" Peter frowns.  
  
Tony hadn't told him yet, then. Harley feels happy about that, for some reason.  
  
"Do you always answer questions with another question, Parker?" He offers instead, trying to keep the smile off his face as he moves fully into the kitchen.  
  
"No?" Harley raises an eyebrow and Peter flushes, bright pink splotches making themselves known across his face. "No!"  
  
"Right." He opens up the fridge, frowning at the distinct lack of donuts. Maybe Tony had meant what he said about getting Happy to stop indulging him.  
  
He sighs heavily. Of course Tony decides to be a responsible adult the day he needs his sugar fix the most.  
  
"Cereal?" Peter offers when he closes the door.  
  
"I'm good, thanks." Then remembering his promise to Tony, he adds less snippily, "I'm more of a donut guy myself but Tony has taken it upon himself to regulate my sugar intake all of a sudden. Quite annoying."  
  
"Oh, um. I think there are pop tarts somewhere? I remember stashing them somewhere the last time Pepper got me some."  
  
"I thought Tony hated those things." Harley decides not to point out the question thing again.  
  
"Hence, why I had to have them stashed," Peter says and for the first time since meeting him, Harley thinks he sees something like a glint of mischief in Peter's puppy brown eyes.  
  
The dichotomy is jarring. But interesting too.  
  
Or at least it is until Harley reads more into Peter's statement and realizes that there was no way Tony would not have known about the pop tarts; that Pepper, while the sweetest woman in the world, had enough free time to buy breakfast pastries; that Tony most likely asked Pepper to deliver them to Peter while pretending like he had nothing to do with the unexpected gift.  
  
Suddenly, Harley doesn't want to be in the kitchen anymore.  
  
"Where are they again?" He asks, turning away.  
  
"Um," the uncertainty is back in Peter's voice, clearly sensing the wall Harley has already put back up. "Top left pantry, I think?"  
  
"Thanks." He's already reaching for it.  
  
The ensuing silence is awkward and tense, the clink of Peter's spoon against his bowl deafening. And Harley...Harley feels ridiculously petty for letting something as stupid as pop tarts ruin what might've been the conversation that reassured Peter he wasn't a complete ass.  
  
He might as well have written it across his forehead in red sharpie.  
  
Tony decides to walk in then, wearing a megawatt smile and yoga pants for some weird reason, and Harley kind of wants to strangle him for..._lots_ of reasons, actually. The first being not warning him about Peter.  
  
"How was the shower? You awake now?" He asks Harley on his way to the coffee pot and he flips him off in response, enjoying Peter's scandalized gasp.  
  
Tony only laughs, pouring a steaming cup. "And how are my young prodigies this fine morning?"  
  
"Good." Peter chirps and his face transforms in Tony's presence, open and smiling and shy.  
  
"Barely alive." Harley drones.  
  
Tony ignores him in favor of leaning on the island in front of Peter. "Good news, kid: I'm getting you a new chauffeur."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Kind of. The catch is that it's Harley, it's only for one day, and he's attending Midtown with you."  
  
Peter's mouth opens and closes like a fish suddenly punted out of water.  
  
"Cool, right?" Harley asks dryly.  
  
Peter smiles weakly. "Yeah. Cool."  
  
"Good." Tony hands him a backpack Harley didn't notice before. "Promise to look out for each other?"  
  
"Promise," Peter says immediately, rising from his stool, and Harley wonders if Tony's aware of the way he melts around the kid, dark brown eyes going soft and gooey when he ruffles his hair.  
  
Something inside Harley clenches painfully.  
  
"Harley?"  
  
"I'll try my best." He says around a mouthful of pop tart.  
  
Tony grimaces. "That's all I can ask with you."  
  
"And yet I still give perfection."  
  
Tony rolls his eyes but tosses him a set of keys.  
  
"_Wha—? Really?!_" Harley nearly chokes in his excitement.  
  
"I said chauffeur, didn't I? Happy's running an errand for me and _this one_"—Peter turns pink again—"should never be allowed behind the driver's wheel."  
  
Harley grins.  
  
"Bring my baby home in one piece, okay?" And then almost like an afterthought. "Stay safe, too."  
  
"Shouldn't that be flipped?" Peter asks.  
  
"No, the level of importance was addressed." Tony winks on his way out.  
  
Awkward silence falls like a shroud once he leaves as if Tony's presence was the only thing keeping it at bay.  
  
"Alright then," Harley rocks back once on his heels. "Shall we?"

  
  
*~*

  
  
Midtown is nice. _Way_ nicer than Rose Hill High School and Harley admires it a bit as he pulls into the student parking lot.  
  
The kids don't look like Einsteins and Curies anymore than they look like regular, if not slightly preppy, teenagers, but they're obviously talented to have gotten in. He sees more than a few drones hovering about and he itches to take one apart and see what makes it work and how he can make it better.  
  
"I can show you to Mr. Morita's office," Peter says after untangling himself from his seatbelt and it's a wonder the kid hadn't strangled himself in the process. Harley nods and locks the doors with a chirp.  
  
People peer curiously at him as he walks the halls, whispers and giggles trailing behind him and he smiles a little at the attention. It feels good to be noticed.  
  
He gets the impression that Peter feels the exact opposite, though, the tip of his ears reddening as he speeds up a bit.  
  
Harley rolls his eyes but picks up the pace.  
  
Inside the office, Mr. Morita eyes him warily but hands him a cream-yellow schedule.  
  
"I hope I hear nothing but good things, Mr. Keener."  
  
Harley smiles winningly. "Of course, sir."  
  
Outside, Peter reads over his schedule and his face drops.  
  
"...You have all the same classes as me."  
  
Harley snorts and snatches the paper back. "Do you mind toning it down a bit, Parker. No need to show everyone how excited you are."  
  
"I–" Peter has the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry."  
  
"Whatever." Harley adjusts his grip on his backpack. "First class?"  
  
"Um, math. Calculus, to be specific. C'mon, I'll show you."  
  
The class starts and Harley settles into his role easily. He lines his words with just the right amount of Tennesseean drawl to come off as charming when introducing himself, causing several cheeks to flare pink—_Peter rolls his eyes hard_—and then proceeds to gut out his personality until he's nearly as boring and perfect as well...Peter.  
  
He raises his hand first, smiles politely when called upon, and makes the valiant effort to keep his snarky comments at bay (and really he deserves a godamn metal for that because at this point the sarcasm he's keeping under lock and key is starting to eat at his stomach lining.)  
  
He gives not only one possible output value for the vector-value function on the board as asked, but lists all possible output values for that function just for the sake of seeing awe blossom across the faces of the other kids and teacher, even as Peter's own face darkens.  
  
Peter's called upon once and startles so bad that he manages to recite the function backward, resulting in a lool of concern from the teacher and delightful guffaws from a couple of students.  
  
Harley only raises an eyebrow and Peter avoids his gaze, sinking into his seat.  
  
The next class is a blur but goes about the same way. Harley is virtually perfect. Peter looks more and more irritated by his presence.  
  
It's a win-win situation, really.  
  
During one of the more extended breaks between classes, Harley leans next to Peter's locker while the latter digs some things out for their next class.  
  
"So, how am I doing?" Harley asks to make small talk. "Am I an angel?"  
  
Petet snorts, his face hidden by the locker door. "Most definitely not, but you got the teachers and everyone else fooled so..."  
  
Harley feels his grin widen. "You sound jealous, Parker."  
  
Peter's head pops into view, face contorted in denial. "_I am not!_ That's stupid. Why would I be–?"  
  
He's abruptly cut off when a boy in crutches striding by suddenly shoulder checks him into the locker.  
  
Harley blinks in surprise and straightens up, "Wha–?"  
  
"Watch where you're going!" The kid snaps, drawing a few gazes their way. "First the field trip, now this. It's like you're out to get me."  
  
"That's not what happened and you ran into me," Peter mutters mutinously but the kid is already ignoring him in favor of facing Harley.  
  
"You're the new kid, right? Harley Kendrick?" He looks him up and down from head to toe appraisingly.  
  
"Keener." Harley corrects absently, eyeing the way Peter's shoulders have suddenly stiffened.  
  
"Well, Keener, don't know if you know this, but I'm the most popular guy here." He grins.  
  
"Are you?"  
  
He doesn't seem to catch the sarcasm or disbelief which is unfortunate because Harley's laying it on thick.  
  
"Yeah, and you are way too cool to be hanging around someone like Penis." He says—declares really in that '_my word is law_' kind of way.  
  
"Penis?" He repeats. He feels like he's a step behind in this strange conversation.  
  
"Parker, duh." He nods at Peter whose knuckles have turned white around his backpack strap.  
  
Harley raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "And you are?"  
  
"Flash Thompson, at your service." The kid does some elaborate gesture with his hand that's probably supposed to look cool but instead makes him nearly fall over from imbalance.  
  
Peter actually reaches over to steady him but throws his hands up in surrender when Flash glares at him.  
  
"Figured I’d warn you now that unless you want to sink your reputation on the first day, you’re already making the wrong sort of friends."  
  
Flash goes so far as to actually point at Peter, and their little exchange is starting to draw a small crowd.  
  
Peter sees this and winces, "Could we not today, Flash? Don't you have somewhere to be?"  
  
Flash doesn't even look at him. "Well, Keener?"  
  
Harley looks at Peter, waits for him to do anything—say _anything_—but nothing happens. He looks back at Flash. The kid is maybe two inches taller than Peter, two and a half at the most, but hardly threatening. He's wearing a _blazer_, for goodness sakes. He's on crutches, too.  
  
But Peter doesn't move or say anything else, content to stand still and take the brunt of Flash's insults like not moving would make Flash forget he was there.  
  
That isn't the case, of course.  
  
"Tell him, Penis, how pathetic you are." Flash goads. There are a couple of chuckles from his goons (said as if there are multiple—_there are only two_) but everyone else seems content to just watch the action unfold, and no, no, no, _nope_. This is not happening.  
  
Don't get him wrong. Harley is perfectly aware that he isn't exactly a saint. _Hence_ why he was in Midtown to begin with and not his own school.  
  
He knows that he can be a sarcastic, little shit when he wants with enough vitriol in his tone to melt several sheets of metal but he has drawn a line. A crooked, sprawling line that makes no sense at times, but a _line_ nonetheless.  
  
Harley James Keener is _not_ a bully, and unfortunately for the likes of Flash, he takes pleasure in stripping their dignity away piece by piece until they become aware of how _insignificant_ they are to the grand social order that is high school.  
  
Harley sighs. Time to be the hero. (Or anti-hero depending how he looks at it.)  
  
"Flash?" He repeats before Peter can turn any redder and a teacher starts to think he's going into anaphylactic shock. "_Really?_"  
  
Flash looks caught off guard. "What?"  
  
"Is that your honest-to-God birth name? Because if so, I might need to call CPS before I go back to Tennessee."  
  
"Wha–? Why?!"  
  
"I mean, that _has_ to count as child abuse, right? Naming your kid that. You're basically dooming them to a life spent in alleyways selling used phones out of a trench coat with multiple pockets."  
  
There was a ripple of shock and then a couple of giggles.  
  
"I–_No!_" Flash's face was splotchy.  
  
"No, that isn't your real name or no to everything else?" Harley inquires innocently.  
  
"_To everything!_" He was fuming. "What's your deal, man? I was just offering you a chance to hang out with me."  
  
"And I would have been okay with that if you didn't go all Draco Malfoy on me and warn me to stay away from mudbloods." Harley smiles with his teeth. "I'm pretty good at figuring out who I want to hang out with on my own, but thanks."  
  
Several people laugh now and even Goon #1 chuckles before Goon #2 punches him in the arm with a scowl.  
  
“I thought you could use some help fitting in. I can see that I was wrong.” Flash takes a step forward into Harley’s space menacingly, or as menacingly as one can while on crutches and wearing a blazer. “Go ahead and make friends with losers. Have fun with that.”  
  
"Pretty sure it’s gonna work out fine, Splash," Harley says. "I'm not exactly sticking around."  
  
"It's _Flash_," Flash snaps.  
  
"Not really an improvement, bud." Harley's already stepping around him, praying that Peter takes the hint and follows him because he has no idea where his next class is and it would be embarrassing to turn back because he was going the wrong way.  
  
Someone soon appears in his peripheral but it's not Peter. Instead, it's the kid that Peter had sat with last class, his face split open by a smile that seemed to vibrate alongside his body.  
  
"_Dude_," the kid breathes, gaping. "That was the _coolest thing I've ever freaking seen!_"  
  
"Why, thank you...whoever you are."  
  
"Ned," he supplies. "Ned Leeds."  
  
"Thank you, Ned Leeds." He shrugs like it was nothing. "Really it was no big deal."  
  
"You're kidding me, right?" Ned shakes his head almost frantically. "That was _awesome_! Wasn't that awesome, Peter?"  
  
Harley hadn't even seen him walk up.  
  
"Yeah," Peter agrees slowly, face unreadable. "That was pretty cool of you, Harley."  
  
"What can I say? Saving weaklings in my free time is my civil duty. I'm also Spider-Man, too." Harley makes little finger guns.  
  
"You're no–" Ned cuts off with a weird squeaking noise and Harley looks in askance.  
  
"Weakling?" Peter's eyes have narrowed. "I can take care of myself."  
  
"Can you? Because Flash isn't exactly a threat and I had to handle him for you." Harley states.  
  
"I—"  
  
"Peter, that _was_ amazing." Ned repeats, rubbing his now red arm, and Harley decides he likes him.  
  
"Yeah, Peter," He throws an arm around Ned's shoulder. "_Amazing_."  
  
Peter glowers.

*~*

By lunchtime, the cafeteria is buzzing about the mysterious new kid from Tennessee and several people scoot over to make room at their tables when he walks by.  
  
He sets his tray down at Peter and Ned's little corner instead.  
  
"You do realize that you can sit _anywhere_, right?" Peter asks as he settles. "You've literally become the most popular guy here in a day."  
  
"I'm well aware of my charm and wit." He winks at Ned who chokes on his milk trying to hold back his laugh. "But thanks for reminding me."  
  
Peter ignores that. "But you're still sitting here with us. Why?"  
  
Harley shrugs. "Tony told me to watch out for you."  
  
Peter frowns. "I don't need a babysitter."  
  
"Tony seems to think you do though." He peels a pickle off of his sandwich to eat. "Take it up with him, not me."  
  
Harley launches into a conversation with Ned who just seems happy to have another person to debate Star Wars logistics with.  
  
"C'mon," Ned groans. "You can't tell me you believe that the force is because little aliens live in your cells."  
  
"Why is that so impossible?" Harley steals one of his ketchup packets. "Remind me how many times New York has almost been leveled by little, green people?"  
  
"Not true! The Centauri were centipede-things, no–"  
  
"Hey, Ned, where's MJ?" Peter asks suddenly.  
  
Ned blinks, no doubt confused by the sudden change in topic. "Uh, library? I think? Something about educating the librarian on banned books."  
  
"I think I'll go see her." Peter stands up before either of them can say anything. "Do you think you can show Harley to his next class? Thanks, Ned."  
  
"He really doesn't like me," Harley observes aloud once he's left and Ned makes a strange sound that he thinks is supposed to be a laugh.  
  
"What? _Nooooo_."  
  
Harley raises his eyebrow.  
  
Ned deflates. "Fine. Maybe. Honestly, I haven't seen him actively dislike anyone in awhile. Not even Flash."  
  
"Wow. Thanks. You're making me feel so good about myself, Leeds." Harley scowls.  
  
"Your welcome." Ned grins. "But really, Peter's a softie. If you really care, just give him a little something to latch onto and he'll meet you the rest of the way."  
  
"I'm not very good at giving people..._something_," Harley says slowly. _They aren't in the habit of giving things back_, is what he doesn't say.  
  
"It doesn't have to be much." Ned shrugs. "Just something."

  
  
*~*

_Give him a little something._  
  
"I'm not a nice person."  
  
Probably not the best conversation starter but the car's been uncomfortably quiet for a while now and Harley's a little desperate to find some common ground between him and Peter if only for the sake of making Tony smile when he tells him later that night.  
  
Peter blinks owlishly, pulling an earbud out. "_Um_...I've noticed?"  
  
"Good." Harley squeezes the steering wheel, relaxes his hands, repeats. "Because I don't want you thinking there's a nicer side to me—there's really not. What you see is what you get. No returns, no refunds."  
  
Peter is actively looking at him like he's crazy now and Harley takes that as a good sign. "Why are you telling me this?"  
  
"Because this is a normal thing with me. I say stuff and people feel bad and I don't want you thinking that me acting like this is your fault or something equally stupid." He shrugs. "You seem the type. No offense."  
  
"You weren't kidding, huh?" Peter says almost to himself.  
  
"And," Harley continues as if he hadn't heard him. "I promised Tony I'd make you not hate me by the end of the day."  
  
"Ah."  
  
He racks his brain for something not dripping in acid or sarcasm. "It’s not exactly..._intentional_, at least not all of it, but it's hard to reel it in sometimes. I get..._prickly_."  
  
"Like a pufferfish." Peter supplies.  
  
He nods. "Yes, _exactly_, like a–" his brain catches up. "–Wait, _what?_"  
  
"You know, the fish who blows up?"  
  
"The...poisonous ones?" Harley ventures.  
  
"_Tetrodotoxin_," Peter confirms. "It's more potent than arsenic and cyanide actually which is crazy when you think about it because..."  
  
Harley stares until Peter trails off. "Sorry. I'm rambling."  
  
"Oh, was that what that was? And here I thought I was having a stroke." He switches lanes without there really being enough time to switch lanes and narrowly avoids a three-car pileup.  
  
They roll to a stop under the red light. "I just want you to know that I don't _not_ like you," Harley says as his concluding statement.  
  
_Give him a little something._  
  
"I don't _not_ like you either," Peter says after a brief silence and hey, progress.  
  
"Not that it matters, anyway. I'm leaving tomorrow. So, you don't have to worry about me anymore." He drums his fingers against his leg.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter open his mouth then hesitate, chewing his bottom lip instead.  
  
"Something you want to share with the class, Parker?"  
  
That gives him the push he needs. "There's this Italian diner that May and I used to eat at when I was younger. Their food is okay but my uncle used to say you haven't really experienced New York until you ate gelato there.  
  
"Your point?"  
  
"Let's go there. Before you leave."  
  
"Like, today?" Harley asks.  
  
"Unless you have other plans." Peter looks deeply skeptical of this and Harley doesn't know if he should be offended.  
  
He stares long and hard until Peter is pink and squirming and the silence itself is a physical thing.  
  
_Give him a little something._  
  
"Or not," he mumbles, looking away. "You could always drop me off ho–"  
  
"I'm in." He interrupts.  
  
Peter blinks in surprise. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah." He floors the gas pedal when the lights turn green. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> \- Writing Harley is so freaking fun. He's so snarky and sarcastic and that's how I am normally anyway.
> 
> -Let me know if there were any out of character moments. I tried really hard to keep everyone in character!
> 
> \- I was inspired in some places by _Problem/Solution: Keener Edition_ by _enzhe_ and _Tony Stark Finds Himself a Family (That Doesn't Suck)_ by _orbingarrow_.  
Check them out!
> 
> \- Any ideas?
> 
> ❤️ ❤️ ❤️


	4. In Which Spider-Man Makes His Debut (And Harley Falls Off a Building)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You should feel pretty special right now." Harley grumbles when he fails to say anything. "I don't do this a lot."
> 
> "I–Thanks. I guess."
> 
> Harley snorts. "Way to restore a guy's confidence, Parker."
> 
> "Well, what do you want me to say?"
> 
> "I don't know, I basically just poured my heart out to you–"
> 
> "–I'd hardly call it that–"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you guys, this chapter [dramatically blows hair out of face] took so freaking long to complete.  
I drafted this thing like three times before I discovered one I liked and even then, I had papers to do, a [minor] anxiety attack because of some stupid thing, the whole shebang!
> 
> That being said, I hope you guys enjoy!!!
> 
> [This chapter was inspired by Pretty Keener by mauvera. Check it out!]

Harley's a terrible driver.  
  
Ok, so maybe '_terrible_' isn't the right word to use.  
  
He wasn't a _bad_ driver, per se, not like Peter was anyway—may Flash's car rest in peace—but there was a certain recklessness to his maneuvers that made Peter wonder if he was expecting the _Fast & Furious_ theme to come on at any second and have secret agents begin chasing them.  
  
No, really, Peter can't help but feel a little insulted now by Tony's earlier comment about his driving skills.  
  
Sure, he was bad but at least he had never attempted to drive up a construction ramp the same way Harley always seemed to try whenever they passed one.  
  
And maybe he's being a little harsh but there were just too many instances where Peter was gripping his seatbelt and praying to whatever Asgardian was listening that Harley wouldn't drive them into the nearest semi for that to be so.  
  
At the speed they'd been going, Peter wouldn't have been surprised if he had driven them off the road entirely on their way to the diner.  
  
Luckily, he didn't.  
  
"You can let go of the handle now," Harley smirks, turning the ignition off.  
  
"Oh. Right." Peter gives himself a moment to relax so that he doesn't pry the entire thing away from the car when he does finally let go.  
That would be a little difficult to explain.  
  
That bad?" Harley leans back a little, twirling the keys around his fingers.  
  
"No..."  
  
"You're a terrible liar, Parker." His smile isn't unkind, though. He tosses his hair back. "In my defense, Rose Hill has like ten cars on the street at any given time. Here it's like everyone and their grandma is trying to get somewhere. How exactly does anyone get anywhere?"  
  
"Walk. We walk." Peter can't contain the nervous laugh that bubbles from between his lips. He must be in shock. "Buses. Trams. Trains. The subway is a godsend on the weekends."  
  
"Tony told me that the subway was for people who had sold their souls to the corporate engine. And mole people."  
  
"That's...not true."  
  
"You don't sound sure about that."  
  
"There are no mole people in the subway." _I think_, he doesn't say.  
  
"Hard as it may be to believe, what with your heart attempting to run a 5k at the moment, but I passed my driver's test with flying colors."  
  
"Really?" Peter's kind of impres–  
  
"On my second try," Harley adds with an impish grin and Peter falters.  
  
"What happened the first time?"  
  
"I totaled the car trying to avoid a goat in the road."  
  
"_Really?!_"  
  
"No, I never learned to parallel park." Harley pushes his door open. "So on that note, careful opening up there. I'm like eighty percent sure we're more on the curb than the actual street."  
  
Peter takes his time inching the door open and sliding through, Tony's warning ringing through his head. Only when he's able to close the door scrape and ding-free that he releases the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.  
  
"This the place?" Harley locks the doors and shoves the keys into his pockets.  
  
"Yep." Peter can't help but feel a rush of nostalgia at the familiar red-and-white checkered tablecloths and old-style booths placed outside the diner.  
  
Harley's own lips quirk as he gives it a once-over. "Charming."  
  
Ten minutes later they're settled at one of the tables outside, the umbrella above them shielding them from the sun.  
  
"Here, you boys go. Stracciatella for Peter and Tiramisu for his handsome friend." Lucia sets the cups of frozen cream in front of them, tucking her tray under her arms once she's done.  
  
"Thank you, Ms. Lucia." Peter smiles.  
  
"_'Thank you, Ms. Lucia.'_" She parrots, rolling her eyes. "Is that all you have to say? I haven't seen you in forever! You've grown so big!"  
  
"It's nice seeing you too." Peter doesn't bother to mention that she saw him a couple of months ago with MJ on a date.  
  
She rolls her eyes. "So you say. And this young man is?" She gestures at Harley who holds his hand out.  
  
"Harley Keener, ma'am." He shakes her hand firmly, a winning smile in place. "Peter's just showing me the sights of the city."  
He punctuates his sentence with a wink and Lucia cackles in surprise, the gold in her teeth glinting as she playfully swats him with her washcloth.  
  
"_Oh, I like this one_. A little heartbreaker, aren't you? Are you staying long, dear?"  
  
"Leaving tomorrow, I'm afraid."  
  
"What a shame." She sighs a little. "Well, then consider this one on the house."  
  
Peter's already shaking his head. It's become a routine at this point, one he desperately wishes Lucia would stop. "No, we can't. It's fine, really, I can pay–"  
  
"You're kidding me, right?"  
  
"I can't–"  
  
"You can and you will." She pulls out her notepad. "Consider this payment for that time May helped me out with those health inspections."  
  
"But you said that the last time I came in with M–" Peter's weak attempts are quickly shot down by Harley who nudges his foot under the table.  
  
"C'mon, Parker." Harley shrugs. "Let the woman show you her gratitude."  
  
"Thank you." Lucia turns to Harley. "And enjoy."  
  
Lucia ruffles Peter's hair on her way back into the diner, the door closing with a soft chime.  
  
Through the glass, Peter can see there are a few people already there, scattered across the diner with textbooks and laptops in front of them and a woman reading a book, but for the most part, it's empty, a soft Italian lullaby wafting from the speakers inside that only Peter can hear.  
  
Still, today's the perfect day to eat outside the diner and a part of Peter wishes he was sharing it with Ned, or MJ, or even Happy—Read: _anyone but Harley_.  
  
Peter pushes that part of him down to watch Harley's reaction as he spoons his gelato into his mouth. His eyes widen as he makes a muffled moan.  
  
"Good?" Peter grins, thawing a little bit. Anyone who enjoyed Lucia's homemade gelato couldn't be totally bad, right?  
  
"Try amazing." Harley takes another spoonful. "Then again, it's not like I have something to compare it to. Rose Hill isn't exactly bustling with Italian diners."  
  
"What does Rose Hill have then?" Peter asks, curious. "You know, other than ten cars and the occasional goat as you've mentioned."  
  
"He makes jokes," Harley announces, seemingly to himself, as his grin widens. "But no, there isn't much. Not like New York, anyway. "  
  
"What about your school? What's that like?"  
  
Harley huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes. "Nothing like Midtown, that's for sure. Think fewer drones, more tractors, and a 50-year-old Mascot named Gabby the Goat."  
  
Peter freezes with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Is the mascot 50-years-old or the person inside it?"  
  
An amused snort. "Your guess is as good as mine."  
  
The silence that follows isn't exactly companionable, but it certainly isn't as tense as it once was.  
  
"Happy told me that you used to visit all the time. Back when Tony was still in the Tower." Peter ventures cautiously, peering at Harley from beneath his fringe.  
  
"Yeah." Harley's raised eyebrow reads, _So?_  
  
"So, what happened? You don't have to tell me or anything, I'm just curious."  
  
"Why do you think something happened?" Harley tilts his head. "Things were just..._complicated_ for a while and I couldn't visit as often as I liked. It didn't help that Tony replaced me."  
  
"I–That's not–" Peter feels his face start to burn. "I'm not–"  
  
"I'm _joking_, Parker," Harley smirks, twirling his spoon. "Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack."  
  
And with the various shades of sarcasm, Peter’s heard from him so far, he’s surprised not to detect any at all.

The other teen just doesn't quite make sense to him yet, and though Peter is no MJ, he's usually (_occasionally_) a good judge of character. Harley's a mystery if there ever was one.  
  
"What's with the look?" Harley asks, pulling the spoon from his mouth.  
  
"What look?" Peter startles out of his thoughts.  
  
"The one on your face."  
  
"I'm not wearing a look." Peter resists the urge to touch his face to see if he is, in fact, wearing a look.  
  
"Yes, you are. You look like you're trying to figure out String Theory." He winks. "Not that hard, by the way."  
  
It takes a valiant effort not to roll his eyes, but Peter succeeds. "I'm trying to figure you out."  
  
"Oh?" Harley's eyes twinkles. "Well, I'm a _little_ more complicated than String Theory."  
  
"I just–" Peter hesitates briefly then plows on. "I don't know anything about you. Like, until a week ago, I barely knew you existed outside of Mr. Stark's obscure references to someplace in Tennessee and even then, I thought you were code for something."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I don't know—a secret military base or lab or whatever."  
  
"Sorry to disappoint." Harley kicks his feet up on the empty chair next to him. "Well, lay it on me. What've you got so far?"  
  
Peter tears his eyes away from Harley's combat boots. "What?"  
  
"Tell me five things you think you know about me and I'll tell you five things I know about you." He shrugs. "Easy bonding exercise."  
  
"Really?" Peter says incredulously.  
  
"Totally. We're guaranteed to be best friends by the end of this."  
  
"Guaranteed by whom?"  
  
"Oprah," Harley says this with a straight face and Peter's not sure if he's making a joke or not.  
  
"_Alright_..." Peter holds out his hand and ticks off one finger. "You're a terrible driver."  
  
Harley gives him that clearly expresses, _is that the best you can do?_  
  
"But you're good with cars." He continues. "You almost made our shop class teacher cry with joy."  
  
"I'm a prodigy."  
  
Peter ticked off a second finger. "Which leads to my second thing: you're smart. Really smart. Happy told me you took apart Mr. Stark's microwave with nothing but a screwdriver."  
  
"What can I say? It had it coming." The smile Harley gives is full of mischief.  
  
"You're kind of an asshole."  
  
"_Err_." Harkey bleeps. "I gave you that one. It doesn't count."  
  
"You didn't let me finish. You're kind of an asshole _but_ you know how to make people think you're not."  
  
"I like to lull people into a false sense of security." Harley shrugs.  
  
"You're kind of a jerk but you don't like bullies. That's why you stood up to Flash."  
  
"Don't tell me he didn't have it coming." Harley rolls his eyes. "Fifth?"  
  
"Something happened back home in Rose Hill. That's why you're here. Mr. Stark mentioned something about fixing something for you."  
  
"Conclusion, Holmes?" Harley raises an eyebrow.  
  
"You're a seventeen-year-old mechanical genius who came into Mr. Stark's good graces ten years ago or so. You left an impression on him and he's cared about you ever since. You like making people think you're an asshole and you kind of are, but you have limits. That's why you ripped into Flash the way you did."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"You haven't been to visit Mr. Stark in a while because of things that have been happening back home. You're here now so something's changed." Peter hesitates. "Does it has something to do with your eye?"  
  
Harley swirls his gelato around his cup, his smile having tightened around the corners.  
  
"This old thing?" He waves a nonchalant hand. "I was being stupid and got hit with a baseball."  
  
"Oh." Peter tilts his head. "How'd I do?  
  
"_Great_." Harley's eyes are flinty and Peter wonders where he went wrong. "You should look into detective work."  
  
And yeah, Peter is fully aware that Harley had basically admitted to being an asshole no more than five minutes ago but it still kind of takes him by surprise when a bit of that mocking drawl creeps back into his voice from seemingly out of nowhere.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"  
  
"My turn!" Harley chirps, the tone of his voice belayed by the mean twist of his lips. His feet come back down as he leans forward. "One: You're smart. _Really smart_. You proved it the day we met and Tony wouldn't have kept you around otherwise."  
  
Peter frowns as Harley continues.  
  
"Two: You're not _super_ popular but everyone knows you as something: the kid with the Stark Internship, the kid whose hand is always raised, the smartest kid in the school, _blah, blah, etc, etc_." He mimes a mouth with his hand.  
  
"Three: You let a kid named after a _DC comic book hero_ push you around, so either you're scared of him or you just don't have the balls to do anything about it."  
  
Peter sits up straighter. "Hey, that's not tru–"  
  
"Four," Harley's actively speaking over him now. "You're the _epitome_ of a bleeding heart. You seem the type to give a mugger your wallet if they promise never to do it again. Long story short: you see the best in everyone. Hence why, I'm assuming, you've given me a chance in the first place."  
  
He winks. Peter feels his ears turn red.  
  
"Last but not least, you call Tony, Mr. Stark."  
  
Peter swallows, his throat dry despite the cool dessert he's just forced down. "Your verdict?"  
  
"Now correct me if I'm wrong," Harley steeples his hands and makes an expression of intense concentration that Peter would consider comical if it didn't feel like Harley was about to verbally rip him to shreds. "You're a sixteen-year-old prodigy who lucked out and caught Tony Stark's attention. You amuse him so he kept you around as an intern. You're too awkward to be popular, but you're too smart to stay under the radar so you're at this weird middle ground where no one messes with you but they like to watch when Flash—_I can't say his name without laughing, sorry_—does. You're too nice for your own good and you call Tony, Mr. Stark." Harley suddenly frowns. "Now that one, I don't have an answer for. Why do you call him that? It's weird."  
  
"I–" Peter's still reeling from Harley's words.  
_Lucked out_. _You amuse him_.  
  
"You know him, don't you?" Harley interrupts. "Your pictures are all over the mansion."  
  
"They are?" Peter's never noticed before.  
  
"_They are_," Harley rolls his eyes hard. "I just think it's weird to call him 'Mr. Stark' when he clearly cares about you more than just any regular intern." There's a note of bitterness in his voice and suddenly, Peter doesn't think they're playing a game anymore.  
  
Tony had specifically introduced him as his personal intern. Not as Spider-Man, not as anything else. Harley feeling threatened by him was ridiculous. Right?  
  
Upon realizing how long their awkward silence has dragged on for, Peter rapidly launches into another sentence.  
  
“It's just out of respect,” he explains hastily.  
  
"Whatever." Harley shrugs. "It doesn't matter." He looks away.  
  
And. That. Is. Just.  
  
Peter's _trying_, ok? To make nice with Harley and try to understand what Mr. Stark sees in him but it’s like every time he's determined to stop thinking negatively, the other boy makes it clear just how dumb Peters being. It’s almost like the universe is sending him a message.  
  
_You're too nice for your own good._  
  
Peter kind of feels like throwing up.  
  
"I think I'm going to go for a walk." He says instead, beyond grateful that his voice doesn't waver as he stands up and tucks his hands into his pockets.  
  
He doesn't wait for Harley's reply, making his way around the diner and to the small community park behind it. There are a couple of kids and their parents hanging around the play structure but Peter makes his way to the wooden bench tucked underneath a sad-looking tree next to a small pond.  
  
One of the ducks glare as he approaches but eventually waddles off as Peter all but collapses onto the bench, closing his eyes and trying to reign in the anxiety buzzing in his chest like a swarm of angry hornets.  
  
_Blue skies in._  
  
_Gray skies out._  
  
Ben's voice soothes him and his heart stops trying to climb into his throat. Just as he's managed to calm himself:  
  
"This bench looks like the poster child for tetanus shots."  
  
Despite himself and all that's happened, Peter smiles a little. He really is a softie. "You got 'em?"  
  
Harley chuckles. "Contrary to Tony's beliefs, Tennessee is not Lewis and Clark's 19th Century backyard. We have vaccines."  
  
He hears the bench creek a little as Harley sits opposite of him.  
  
There's a bit of awkward, tense silence and then, "I'm sorry."  
  
"It's fine. You told me how you were like. It's nothing personal." Peter feels a little bit embarrassed now. If Tony were to see him now...  
  
"Yeah, but that really isn't an excuse this time. I said all that stuff on purpose because I was feeling _stupid_ and _insecure_ and my _stupid_ school expelled me for perfectly valid reasons, I'll admit, but–" Harley abruptly cuts himself off and huffs frustratedly. "Your feelings are legitimate. I need to chill out."  
  
Peter struggles to find something to say because Harley James Keener just apologized to him and he has a feeling that he should be recording this or something. It feels monumentuous.  
  
"You should feel pretty special right now," Harley grumbles when he fails to say anything. "I don't do this a lot."  
  
"I–Thanks. I guess."  
  
Harley snorts. "Way to restore a guy's confidence, Parker."  
  
"Well, what do you want me to say?"  
  
"I don't know, I basically just _poured_ my heart out to you–"  
  
"–I'd hardly call it that–"  
  
"–I'd appreciate _some_ acknowledgment. Not much, I'm not picky. Maybe a smile, a high-five, even–Hey, who's Benjamin Parker?"  
  
And that throws Peter for a _loop_. "What?!"  
  
"Benjamin Parker?" Harley repeats, no doubt reading the name carved into the table. "He defiled this bench with physics formulas and I kind of what to thank him. Any relation?"  
  
"He's–My uncle." Peter answers.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"He died a couple years ago," Peter adds and immediately wonders what compelled him to say that.  
  
There's a brief minute of silence and great, Peter, way to make it awkward bringing up your dead uncl–  
  
"My dad left when I was a kid." Harley's voice puts a halt to Peter's panic. "Which has nothing to do with your situation but Oprah always said a surefire way to making friends is sharing tragedies so we might as well..."  
  
Harley's rambles (and Peter's starting to realize that's exactly what his sarcasm is masking–_ramblings_) fade to background noise as Peter comes to the realization that he really doesn't know anything about the boy in front of him.  
  
He sits up and swivels around to face Harley who's still eating his gelato.  
  
"Flash is a jerk," Peter says in lieu of discussing the serious topics they just threw out there like some kind of morbid free for all. "And he's been messing with me forever. But I can handle him, and I rather he picks on me than Ned or some random kid who can't do anything about it. _That's_ why I don't do anything about him."  
  
Harley looks taken aback. A moment later a slow smile grows on his face. "You really are a softie, huh? Abbie would love you."  
  
"Abbie?"  
  
"My sister."  
  
"You have a sister."  
  
"I have a sister." Harley nods, his face softening in a way Peter's never seen before. Granted, he's only interacted with the guy for two days, counting this one, but still. "She's at a boarding school in Colorado. She loves it there."  
  
"And you love her," Peter observes.  
  
"Are we done pointing out the obvious?" Harley rolls his eyes. "Don't tell her, though. She has a big enough head as it is."  
  
"Must be genetic," Peter quips and Harley narrows his eyes at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just when I think got you figured out..." Harley shakes his head. "Anyway, that's why I'm here. I guess Rose Hill High could only stomach so much before they got sick of me. Tony's helping me get back in and that's why I was at Midtown. Proving my merit, I guess."  
  
"Oh...I think you did ok."  
  
Harley's real smile, Peter discovers, when he isn't scheming or saying something sarcastic, is slightly crooked. "Thanks."  
  
***~***

Harley rolls to a stop in front of an alleyway bracketed by several stores, pedestrians milling about aimlessly with everything ranging from briefcases to grocery bags in their hands.  
  
"Thanks. I can walk from here." Peter says, unbuckling his belt.  
  
"You sure?" Harley looks around, deeply skeptical. "This place looks like mugging central. Tony would kill me if I let you get mugged. Do you see the problem here?"  
  
"I'll be fine." Peter's already grabbing his stuff and opening the door. He steps out and Harley rolls down the passenger window to peer up at him. "But," He acquiesces. "If I do end up getting mugged, feel free to say I told you so."  
  
"As satisfying as that would be," Harley smirks. "I'm sure Spider-Man would save you."  
  
Petet immediately fumbles with his textbooks, dropping half and nearly tearing another in half.  
  
"_Why–?_" His voice comes out too high and he quickly clears it. "Why do you say that?"  
  
Harley gives him a confused, if not a little concerned, look. "Um...Queens is his neighborhood, right? That's where he operates most of the time. And you _live_ in Queens. ...You need me to add two plus two while I'm at it, Parker?"  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry–Just. Forgot." Peter quickly ducks down to gather his things so Harley doesn't catch the blush rapidly painting his cheeks.  
  
"_Right_," Harley drawls as he straightens back up again. "And anyway, you have that whole poor, defenseless puppy-dog thing about you. He's practically _obligated_."  
  
"Yeah, well," Peter needs a subject change like yesterday. "It was nice meeting you, Harley."  
  
Harley snorts, amused. "Was it really?"  
  
...And Peter thinks long and hard for several moments before answering:  
  
"Yeah, it was."  
  
Harley's mouth opens then closes and Peter kind of likes being the one to throw him off of his annoying perfect game.  
  
"Huh." He finally settles on.  
  
Peter makes a split-second decision, "Give me your phone."  
  
Harley's eyebrows shoot up but he hands it over. "Why?"  
  
"Don't you think you should've asked me that before you gave it to me?" He taps on his contacts.  
  
"Probably. For all I know, Tony recruited you to break my phone so he could finally saddle me with the latest SI one."  
  
Peter doesn't look up from typing in his number. "Resistance is futile. He always gets you in the end."  
  
"All the more reason to resist."  
  
"He dropped my old phone in hydrochloric acid."  
  
"On accident?"  
  
"So he claims. We were in the kitchen."  
  
"...Yikes."  
  
"Yep." Peter finally hands the phone back. "Text me when you're back in Tennessee. I'd like to see Gabby the Goat."  
  
Harley takes it. "No promises."  
  
He doesn't say bye, only rolls up the window and speeds off, clearly over the speed limit. Peter stares at the car fading away in the distance for only a moment before turning back into the alleyway where Spider-Man awaits.  
  
**Interlude**: Where Peter Was During Lunch  
  
....Several Hours Earlier...  
  
It was scary, sometimes, how perceptive MJ was and not just in the general, '_I know everything about everyone and could blackmail the Nick Fury if I wanted to,_' way, but to Peter specifically.  
  
She was attuned to him at a level that not even Ned could quite reach, and not for lack of trying. MJ just knew things about Peter. She read him like an open book and in turn, Peter liked to think he knew things about MJ that were exclusive only to him.  
  
So it really shouldn't have surprised him when she took one cursory glance at him during her row with the librarian and raised a questioning eyebrow when he set his lunch tray down in front of her.  
  
Peter only shrugged and she turned back to the discussion at hand.  
  
"How are you still alive?" Peter whispered a couple of minutes later after watching the librarian stomp off, face flushed and thoroughly defeated in a way only MJ has managed to perfect. "She nearly bit Ned's head off when he suggested they add comic books to the library but now you've got her halfway convinced that banned books are a necessity or whatever."  
  
"I'm persistent," MJ answered.  
  
"I think she likes you."  
  
"She hates me."  
  
"She likes to hate you, then." Peter amended and MJ's lips quirked upward.  
  
"I'll take it." She lowered her book to peer closely at him, dark eyes prying. "As much as I love your company, Peter, what are you doing here? And where's your new shadow?"  
  
"Harley?" Peter clarified.  
  
"That's what they call him."  
  
"I left him with Ned in the cafeteria. I just...wanted to talk to you."  
  
"Is something wrong?" MJ looked thoroughly unconvinced. "And before you say nothing, know that I already think you're lying."  
  
"I haven't even said anything yet." Peter squirmed under her prying gaze and looked down at his sandwich. "Just...What do you think about Harley?"  
  
MJ pursed her lips and leaned forward like she was about to tell a secret. "I don't."  
  
Peter rolled his eyes. "I know but, do you like him?"  
  
"I like what he did to Flash." MJ leaned back.  
  
"But do you _like_ him?"  
  
MJ paused and raised one slow eyebrow. Peter felt himself flush.  
  
"No, I don't." She was articulating her words slower now. "Unlike the rest of our peers, I'm not a mindless drone. I haven't even met him yet."  
  
"Oh." Peter tried to play it cool. "Ok."  
  
"You don't like him," MJ stated rather than asked.  
  
And that must have been what Peter needed to set him off because before he knew it, his mouth was opening, "He's just so full of himself! Like, _we get it you're smart_—there's no need to shove it in our faces by applying the golden ratio to the Empire State Building. And condescending—_God, he's so condescending_—and mean and–"  
  
"The other intern, per se." She interrupted and Peter flushed red. He didn't bother to ask how she knew.  
  
"Mr. Stark said he's here for a reason but what if by the time he leaves, he realizes how much better Harley is than me."  
  
"Is he?"  
  
"Is he what?"  
  
"Better? Because from what I've heard, both of you are equally as smart."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Don't frown." MJ tapped the skin between his brow. "You'll get wrinkles."  
  
"I thought you didn't believe in beauty standards and thought wrinkles were a sign of distinguished wisdom." Peter grinned.  
  
"They are. Why do you think I don't smile?"  
  
"You're smiling now."  
  
"Because you're contagious." She buried her face in her books. "Now go away. I'm reading."  
  
After a moment, "Don't worry about all of that stuff, Peter. You're...pretty amazing. Mr. Stark is lucky to have you." Peter looked up from demolishing his sandwich in time to see MJ duck her head down, but not before he caught the blush darkening her brown cheeks.  
  
He felt his own cheeks warm in response.  
  
Ex-girlfriend or not, Peter didn't think he'd ever get over how MJ made him feel.  
  
"Thanks." He whispered shyly.  
  
"Whatever. I thought I told you to go away."  
  
***~***  
  
"MJ's right. As always. But I don't know, Karen. He was kind of a jerk really, but–"  
  
“Did he look something like that boy, Peter?” Karen's voice interrupts his late afternoon debrief (it's more of a talk, really, but debriefing sounds _way_ cooler) mid-swing, directing his attention to the top of a random building where one Harley James Keener stood and waved wildly.  
  
"_What the hell...?_" Peter latches onto a telephone pole and turns himself around at the last second. "What the hell is he doing?"  
  
"Why don't you ask?" Karen suggests.  
  
Pete does when he lands in front of him with a near-silent thud. Harley raises an appreciative eyebrow at the display and Peter mentally pats himself on the back a little.  
  
His first and foremost priority (aside from getting this idiot down safely) is to make sure that Harley leaves New York thinking Peter and Spider-Man are completely different people.  
By _not_ automatically tripping over thin-air and falling onto his face, he's already distinguished himself from the clumsy loser Harley knows and not-hates.  
  
Karen does the rest of his job for him by automatically turning on his voice modulator.  
  
"Looking for you," Harley replies simply, like waiting alone on rooftops is a thing normal people did when they wanted to meet Spider-Man.  
  
News Flash: Despite all the crazies populating New York, it really isn't.  
  
"Well, you found me." Peter acknowledges, spreading his arms. "...Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
"No, not really..." Harley tilts his head, eyeing Peter's suit the same way a biologist stares at a curious animal he wants to dissect.  
  
"_Alrighty_, then." Peter rocks back on his heels. "If you would be so kind as to step down so I could leave, I have superhero stuff to do."  
  
"Superhero stuff?" Harley repeats, eyes glittering as he meets Peter's (Spider-Man's(?)) gaze.  
  
"_Yeah_." And is Peter puffing out his chest and using this moment to make himself finally feel cooler than Harley? Probably. Maybe. Most likely. "Important hero stuff. You couldn't understand."  
  
"Yeah?" Harley crosses his arms. "Try me."  
  
Peter's at a lost there but it really shouldn't have surprised him that _Harley_ of all people would question a superhero.  
  
He is..._surprisingly_ calm in his presence. Peter has only ever dealt with people who screamed, stuttered incoherently, demanded pictures (and backflips—but those were fun), but never had anyone just had a normal conversation with him.  
  
It was kinda nice.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Even if Harley was being insufferable.  
  
Peter starts again. "I don't need to answer tha–"  
  
"–Is your suit made out of micro-fibers?" Harley suddenly interrupts. He takes a step forward and Peter immediately moves away, leaping backward.  
  
Harley throws his hands up. "Sorry. Didn't mean to trigger..._whatever_ that was."  
  
"It's cool. Just, why are you up here? Peter asks, safe from his perch atop an air conditioning unit. He's hoping Harley doesn't start throwing rocks at him.  
  
"I didn’t know how else to find you. You don’t exactly have a phone number I can call. So,” he gestures around them. “_Rooftop_.”  
  
“Well, as _flattering_ as that is, I feel like as your responsible friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, I should tell you not to climb onto rooftops just to attract random heroes. It's dangerous.”  
  
That seems to be the buzzword Harley's looking for because his smile makes a sudden reappearance, mischief dancing in his eyes.  
  
"Dangerous?" He spreads his arms against the backdrop of the New York skyline and spins around. “How could this be _dangerous_?”  
  
"Peter, Harley is approaching the edge of the building. Please advise him to move away." Karen informs him worriedly.  
  
"_Hey–!_" Peter is suddenly aware of the way Harley is still spinning back, his feet barely touching the gutter of the roof before he takes one final step backward.  
  
And suddenly, there's no Harley in front of him.  
  
_Shit_.  
  
Peter's already diving over the edge, closing the distance between them and shooting a web back up the building. Wrapping an arm around Harley, he uses their momentum to propel them up again, wind rushing past his ears as they sail through the air.  
  
They land with a thud and Karen is already running diagnostics.  
  
"Elevated heart rate. Labored breathing. Pupil dilated 15%." She pauses for a second. "He's fine, Peter."  
  
"_Oh, thank God._" He nearly collapses with relief. The thought of having to tell Tony if he hadn't made it in time...  
  
"Well, fuck me. I could've died." Harley's voice is not at all properly scarred-for-life the way Peter is currently feeling and it annoys him a little. More than a little.  
  
"Yeah!" He can't help but snap. "Next time, don't climb on top of buildings."  
  
"Deal." Harley's laugh borders on hysteria and Peter can't help but soften, his irritation deflating like a balloon.  
  
He takes a deep breath and tries again. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Peachy," Harley raises an eyebrow at Peter's arms, still wrapped around him. "Though I'm more used to people trying to get away from me than..._this_. Something you wanna tell me Spider-Man?"  
  
Peter rolls his eyes even though he can't see it and quickly disentangles himself. "Get over yourself. And get down while you're at it. I really do have stuff to do."  
  
Homework, for one. And helping May with dinner.  
  
Harley salutes him with two fingers. "Yes, sir."  
  
Peter watches him turn around and start for the access door—then freeze and look over his shoulder.  
  
"I'm not leaving until you do," Peter warns.  
  
"Yeah. I figured." Harley's smile is softer this time, less bladed and more unsure. "Just...Thanks. For saving me. I wish I had someone like you back home."  
  
Peter frowns. "Well, falling off of buildings, aside, you seem more than capable of solving your own problems."  
  
The laugh Harley gives is jarringly bitter. "You'd be surprised."  
  
"You should come to New York again," Peyer suggests, without thinking. "When you have the chance."  
  
Harley starts to reply then frowns. "How do you know I'm not from New York?"  
  
Oh. Dear. _God_.  
  
"I know everyone here." Peter lies, mentally cringing. "I–Photographic memory. It's a spider thing."  
  
If Peter thought he was panicking before, it's nothing compared to the sheer rush of adrenaline that bursts through his veins as he waits for Harley’s response.  
  
"As questionable as that sounds..." His smile returns. "Maybe I will visit again."  
  
***~***

  
_09:17 PM_  
  
**Unknown number**: Just so we're clear, I'm totally renaming you BabyFace in my contacts. Seems appropriate, no?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think? Any thoughts? Was everyone in character? Let me know ^_^


	5. In Which Harley Calls Peter Babyface Repeatedly (And Tony has a Very Big Problem)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley: Attached baby-yoda.jpg
> 
> Harley: You up, Parker?
> 
> Harley: I saw this picture and thought of you. ;)
> 
> Peter: I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment.
> 
> Harley: How can this face ever be an insult, Babyface?
> 
> Harley: baby-yoda(1).jpg
> 
> Peter: Touche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, huh?
> 
> First chapter of 2020, though, so woohoo! This was weird and fun to write, so I hope you guys enjoy my attempts at finally inserting a plotline!
> 
> Enjoy!!!
> 
> (Inspired by And Know Not Me by Verity_Kindle.  
Check them out!)

**Monday** — 08:46 AM

**Harley**: Parker

**Harley**: Hey, Parker.

**Harley**: C'mon, Babyface, answer me.

Peter: Jesus, Harley, I'm in class right now. You know, where you should be.

Peter: And I told you to stop calling me that.

**Harley**: Whatever you say, babyface. Here. I got you something.

**Harley**: _Attached gabby-the-goat.jpg_

Peter: ...Harley, what the eff am I looking at?

**Harley**: Did you really just type out the eff word instead of just saying fuck? You're precious, Parker. You know that?

Peter: Harley!

**Harley**: Fine. It's Gabby the Goat, remember? You asked and you received. I'm waiting for my thank you.

Peter:...Are those wires sticking out of it?

**Harley**:...

Peter: And fireworks?

**Harley**: I don't know what you're talking about.

**Harley**: _Attached gabby-the-goat(1).jpg_

**Harley**: Just a perfectly normal fifty-year-old mascot. Nothing to see here.

Peter: You've been back in school, what? Three weeks now? Don't you think you should wait a little longer before you start blowing things up? Like a couple of months. Or better yet, never? 

Peter: What if you get hurt messing with that stuff?

**Harley**: Aww. Your concern is touching, Parker. I'll be fine, though. This ain't my first rodeo.

**Harley**: That was NOT an invitation to make a cowboy joke.

Peter: I'll restrain myself.

Peter: Seriously though. You could get in trouble. Again. What would Mr. Stark say?

**Harley**: I imagine he'd tell me to use a silicone conductor instead of plastic for a better result.

Peter:...He probably would say that. Bad example.

Peter: What about your mom? She can't have been happy that you were almost expelled.

**Harley**:...

Peter: Harley?

**Harley**:...

Peter: You okay? You didn't blow yourself up, did you?

**Harley**:...

Peter: Did I say something wrong?

**Harley**:...My mom's too busy trying not to trip over her feet when she walks to the liquor cabinet to care about whether or not I'm in school.

**Harley**: And she's in rehab. Again. So there's that.

Peter: Harley...I didn't know. I'm sorry.

Peter: Harley?

Peter: Frick, I have to put away my phone. I'm sorry.

_PETER is offline at 09:10 AM_

_HARLEY is typing..._

**Harley**: Fuck.

_Message deleted_

_HARLEY is offline at 09:12 AM_

***~***

Tony has a problem.

It's salt-and-pepper blonde, (fairly) old—older than _Tony_ anyway, the spring chicken that he is—5'7"-ish, condescendingly smug, and would have been two minutes away from getting decked in the face with an iron glove had he arrived in person.

"Secretary Ross, to what do I owe the singular pleasure that is your company?" Tony greets cheerfully, his smile stretched painfully wide.

"Stark." Comes the curt reply.

Ross's hologram flickers in front of his desk and Tony mentally bangs his head against the wall for forgetting to turn the communicator off like he normally does when he decides to work in his office rather than the workshop or lab.

"You've been avoiding me." Ross continues, his feet planted a foot apart with his arms tucked behind his back. Every bit the military man he once was. Tony's beginning to find he doesn't like military men all that much.

"What? _No!_ I'm just busy." He waves his hand around to indicate all it is he does which is not much in all honesty ever since Pepper took over as CEO and Tony was reduced to a pretty figurehead. Not that Ross needed to know that. "You know how it is, head of a multi-billion dollar company and all that."

Ross remains unimpressed, his stare annoyingly impassive. "Is that so?"

"It is so."

"Then tell me, Stark, why I have had to hire telecommunications experts to create new numbers for me to reach you with?"

"I beg your pardon?"

A nerve twitches in Ross' temple and Tony resists the urge to grin wider. "It appears that all the others are being systematically blocked."

"_Blocked?!_" Tony takes on a comically bewildered expression, complete with raised eyebrows and a dramatic gasp. "I assure you, Ross, I had nothing to do with this."

"Stark—"

"Friday, my love child, did you know anything about this?"

"I did not, Boss." Atta girl.

"Stark—"

"I mean, is that even possible? You would have to have a phone that traced the electrical signal of every call you received and identified which one originated from the State Department. And honestly, that's a tall order for any phone, even an Apple. A StarkPhone perhaps..."

"_Stark, I swear t—_"

"But you know," Tony pretends to be deep in thought, pressing a thoughtful finger to his chin. "A shifting algorithmic entity that's connected to a set of devices simultaneously may just work. An entity like..."

"Like me, boss." Friday doesn't even try to hide the smugness in her voice.

"That is true...But I'd never." Tony hurries to add. 

"Boss would _never_." Friday agrees. 

Ross' jaw is clenched shut, his cheek twitching and, Tony imagines delightfully, tomato red. "Are you quite done, Mr. Stark?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

Tony drops his smile, feeling his expression steel. "Whether or not you've gotten the message."

Ross takes a deep breath like he's trying to compose himself and maybe he is. Tony's been told he tends to work people up. Maybe if he's lucky, Ross'll need to sit down for a bit and this conversation will be cut short.

"Spider-Man, Stark. I want Spider-Man." Well, when was the last time Tony was lucky anyway?

“You and every pimply-faced fanboy, cat-loving grandma, and absurdly-nicknamed sci-fi wanna-be cosplayer in New York City,” Tony scoffs. “Tell you what, why don’t you spend some of your time and money going after those guys? _They’re_ the ones hurting people and causing massive property damage. I couldn't even _tell_ you how many times I've had to stop a possible feline invasion, _it's crazy_—"

Ross ignores him. "We've had this conversation before—"

"Good, so you should already know my answer." Tony reaches for his mug.

"And I am once again _urging_ you to comply with me and bring me Spider-Man."

"What makes you think I even know him?" He takes a sip and immediately spits it out into his wastebasket. 

He peers into his mug with a face. "What is this—_battery acid_? Remind me to fire Happy, Fri."

"I will not, sir."

"Well, someone's getting fired for this."

Ross raises his voice over Friday's reply. "His suit has your touch all over it, Stark. Your technology, your designs, everything."

"Well, maybe he just has a really good seamstress." Tony tosses the contents of his mug and rolls his eyes as he straightens back up. "And even if I did know him personally—which, I have repeatedly told you, _I don't_—Spider-Man is not a threat."

"You don't know that."

"Do you watch the local news, Ross?" He inquires incredulously. "He talked a woman out of setting her husband's car on fire when she caught him cheating then helped her move his stuff out. He helped a couple of girl scouts sell cookies and cleaned the shop window of an elderly couple. Now, I don't know about you, but I just don't see the Sinister Six attempting to recruit him."

"You thought the same about Captain Rogers. Excuse me if I don't trust your judgment."

...And Tony doesn't even bother to dissect the clusterfuck of emotions that bubble up in him at the sound of that name. "This conversation is over."

"Spider-Man, Stark, is a threat to national security. He's an undocumented enhanced individual. Who knows what he's capable of." Ross rolls his shoulders, sets his face in stone. "You have until the end of the week."

"Or what?" Tony snarls.

"Or I find out who he is myself and you're going to wish you had told me when you got the chance."

Ross' hologram disappears before Tony can hurdle the projector across the room, but he does it anyway, a crack appearing in the plaster that Pepper will no doubt complain about when she checks in on him.

"...Fuck." He swears.

"Boss?"

Tony heaves a sigh. "Yeah, Fri?"

"Mr. Parker has arrived in the foyer. Would you like me to tell him you're occupied?"

"No...no, I'm good. I'll be right out."

As he closes the lights in his office, he finds his resolve. "Friday start a new project. Operation Screw Ross Over. He's not touching the kid."

"Affirmative, Boss."

Peter keeps checking his phone as they work, expression pinched, and finally Tony takes pity on him.

"What's up, kid? Did your aunt forget to pack your CapriSun and goldfish crackers today?"

Peter's scowl slips off his face as he slides his phone into his pocket, failing to gain traction as a pout takes shape instead. "I said something to Harley and now he's not texting me back. I think he's mad at me. Again."

"Well, what did you say?"

"I mentioned his mom." Ah. Yeah, that would do it. "And I apologized but..." Peter trails off and bites his bottom lip.

"Harley just needs time to cool off. Trust me, kid, he'll come around." He nods over to his worktable. "C'mon and help me with this."

"Really?" He immediately brightens up and practically skips over. "Ok."

* * *

**Tuesday** — 08:46 PM

**Harley**: _Attached baby-yoda.jpg_

**Harley**: You up, Parker?

**Harley**: I saw this picture and thought of you. ;)

Peter: I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment.

**Harley**: How can this face ever be an insult, Babyface?

**Harley**: _baby-yoda(1).jpg_

Peter: Touche.

Peter: ...I thought you were still mad at me.

**Harley**: What gave you that idea?

Peter: You stopped talking to me. You wouldn't answer any of my calls or texts...

**Harley**: It's called being grounded. It happens to those of us that weren't born saints.

**Harley**: And anyway, that's beside the point. It's not like I've been texting you forever. I did it once, one day, and only because I happened to have Gabby on hand.

**Harley**: Melodramatic much?

Peter: I didn't know about your mom. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable.

**Harley**: It's fine.

Peter: It's really not. I shouldn't have pried.

**Harley**: Well, you're making me more uncomfortable with your apology, so quit it. It's not a big deal, so don't make it one.

Peter: Right. Sorry.

**Harley**: You're doing it again.

PETER is typing...

**Harley**: And I have a feeling you're about to do it again, so let me intervene now.

**Harley**: Guess who just won last night's football game?

Peter: You're on the football team?

**Harley**: Oh, God, no, don't be ridiculous.

Peter: And yet...?

**Harley**: Turns out when a mascot starts sparkling like the Fourth of July, you tend to turn some heads.

Peter: I'll bet.

Peter: Wait, did you say you were grounded? You got in trouble, didn't you?

**Harley**: I'm always in trouble, Babyface. At this point, I'm just judging the severity of whatever I've done on whether I get sent to bed without dinner or screamed at for an hour.

**Harley**: It's a spectrum, really.

Peter: Yikes. Your aunt sounds kinda strict.

**Harley**: Yeah, she's a bitch.

Peter: (☉｡☉)!

**Harley**: I can almost see you clutching your figurative pearls, Parker, and as funny as the mental image is, chill.

Peter: Sorry, I just...I don't know. 

Peter: Aunt May is basically my best friend. I can't imagine life without her.

**Harley**: Really? That's kind of sad.

Peter: Shut up. Anyway, what I meant to say is that I'm sorry your aunt is so terrible to you.

**Harley**: ...It's not as bad as I'm making it sound. She's just...strict. Like you said.

**Harley**: And speaking of best friends, how's Ned? I miss the guy.

Peter: He bought a new lego set yesterday of the _Enterprise_. We're planning on working on it tomorrow.

**Harley**: You guys are such nerds.

**Harley**:...How many pieces?

Peter: :D

**Harley**: Shut up, Babyface.

**Harley**: Work on your emojis.

***~***

Tony doesn't take well to being threatened. (Then again, who does?)

Despises it in fact, figure that, after being subjected to threats on a near-daily basis ever since he was born. His father had a lot of enemies as it turns out, working for SHIELD and all that jazz with the super-soldier, which explains the massive security detail that followed him to school every day as a kid.

As a teenager and young adult, he had more than his fair share of women accuse him of being the father of their child and threaten to expose him if he didn't pay _insert specified amount here_. 

His father handled them at first (and as complicated as his feelings were he couldn't deny the gleam of amusement he felt when his father's stare usually reduced the women to accepting little to nothing at all), then Rhodey when they were at college (and _that_ had been an interesting point in his life—Rhodey pulling women and men from his bed with growing exasperation until Tony was sure that he was perfect best friend material), and finally Pepper (who was considerably scarier than the men mentioned before in her own way and single-handedly got him to stop. He still loved her for that.)

As the CEO of a weapons manufacturing company, the death threats he received were, in his opinion, kind of fair, if not overly hostile occasionally. Seeing as how Stark Industries no longer created weapons, Tony supposes that those people got their way.

Being an Avenger and an important one at that (Tony liked to use words like benefactor, patron, leader. _Co-leader_, a familiar voice would always correct, gently chiding and Tony shoved it harshly away), threats were a part of the job description. Enemies, allies, and all those complicated in-betweens were prone to them the minute Tony fell out of line.   
He tends to do so a lot.

The point is, you don't get to where he is today without being threatened on a bi-weekly basis, and for the most part, he's accepted it. 

No, the problem comes when people threaten those that are _his_. Tony knows full well he's a possessive bastard but someone has to be when everything else is so easily taken.

So when someone threatens someone he cares about: Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, and even the Avengers, once upon a time.

Peter.

That's when shit hits the fan.

Ross's threat rings in his ears long after the crack in the wall has been repaired and he's spent his day more distracted than not, much to Pepper and the Board's annoyance. The minute he gets the chance he barricades himself in his lab, pulling up Peter's suit logs and scanning through.

He doesn't even know what he's looking for—something Ross planted or did that makes him so sure he won't need Tony to reveal his identity.

Maybe he's having Spider-Man followed.

The thought sends a chill down his spine.

On the second holographic screen he has open, Friday is actively hacking the Secretary of State's servers. Tony has yet to find anything incriminating 

He finds it very annoying. Of course, Ross refused to be your standard corrupt politician and keep documents of shady deals. He was spiteful like that.

"Peter's approaching the lab, Boss," Friday warns as he switches to the next log.

"_Okkaayy_." He reads the last log and sighs in defeat. Nothing. "Close your screen but keep it running. If Ross so much as didn't pay for his pizza delivery, I want to know."

"Yes, Boss."

He whirls around in his chair just as the glass windows slide open, admitting his favorite (_only_, Pepper chides) intern. "Peter! How are you? You get Harley talking to you again?"

Something complicated flickers across Peter's face before settling on a smile. "Yeah. We're good."

"Great. Is he keeping out of trouble?"

"Not exactly?" Peter tilts his head, smile still in place. "He's grounded at the moment."

"What for?"

"Stuffing fireworks inside his school's mascot."

Tony tries and fails to hold back a smirk. Of course. "It's only been three weeks and I already miss him. It's like Stockholm Syndrome."

Peter snorts and peers past him. "Are those my suit logs?" 

Tony glances over his shoulder.

"Yes, actually." He admits.

"Something wrong?" Peter comes closer.  
  
"No." Tony hesitates then continues. "Just some standard maintenance. Now, go on, get to work. Chop chop."

Peter rolls his eyes but does as she says, settling down at his table.

"And do your homework before you start with the web fluid. Your aunt's starting to get on to me."

"Ugh."

"That's what I said. But she's the boss."

An hour into the comforting sounds of clinking beakers and no update from Friday, Tony looks at the station Peter has set himself up at.

"Hey, Peter?" He tries to sound casual. 

"Yes, Mr. Stark?" He doesn't look from his notebook.

"You ever notice anything weird when you go out lately?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Weirdness." Great job, Stark. Way to keep it casual.

Peter looks up then, bemusement written across his face. "No, I can't say I have. No weirder than what I'm used to, at least."

Tony nods. "Just checking."

If Ross wasn't having Peter followed, what did he have in his back pocket?

With his stained lab apron, StarkTech goggles pushed back in his curls, and a notebook filled with Harvard level equations, Peter looks comfortable. A long shot from the boy who used to vibrate with excitement when Tony just looked at him.

And Ross wants to take that away from him. Leave him vulnerable to the criminals who–Wait a minute.

"Peter," he begins slowly. "Who else knows about your identity?"

"Um..."

"Humor me."

Peter looks confused but begins. "Um, May, Ned, MJ, though I didn't tell her, she figured it out. Uh, Pepper, Happy, I think Rhodey's starting to get suspicious after that time I accidentally broke the sink–"

Tony shakes his head, cutting him off. "No, someone else who knows but shouldn't. Someone _I_ wouldn't know about."

Peter looks distant for a moment before fear clouds his face and Tony feels his own heart drop a little.

"Um, there may be one person."

Fuck. "Who?"

"Adrian Toomes. Vulture."

Of fucking course.

"Vulture," Tony repeats just in case his hearing has decided to give up on him at this very moment. "And you're telling me this _now_?! _A year later_?"

"It wasn't a pressing issue. He's not exactly a threat anymore!" Peter defends.

"I'm sorry, the same man who stripped and repurposed alien technology _isn't a threat_? The same man who cut a _steamer_ in half? The same man who dropped a _building_ on you?"

Peter squirms in his seat, face mulish. "You make it sound so bad."

"Because it is. Is there _any_ other way for it to sound?" Tony sighs, rubs his eyes. "Kid, you still have nightmares about what happened."

Two red spots appear on Peter's cheeks. "How...?"

"Your hot aunt likes to keep me in the loop."

"Gross," Peter's face falls a moment later, embarrassment clouding his features which is the last thing Tony wants him to feel. "I'm fine. May shouldn't have told you that."

"I'm happy she did. Hell, I still have nightmares." Tony adds the last part softly because he did. Imagining Peter trapped under concrete and being slowly crushed to death was enough to trigger his own PTSD. "You know, we can talk if you wa–"

"No," Peter interrupts, looking down at his notebook like it would compel Tony to stop talking. "Am I in trouble? For the Toomes thing?"

Avoidance. Not the best strategy to deal with that but Tony would be a hypocrite to call him out on it. He pinches the bridge of his nose instead, squeezing his eyes shut.

"No, Peter. No, you are not. I'll deal with it."

Peter's head shoots up and looks even more worried then and Tony can't help his scoff.

"Don't give me that look, I'm not going to kill him or anything. Just going to have a little talk."

"Oh." Peter releases a shaky breath. "Ok."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Get back to work, kid."

* * *

**Wednesday** — 03:16 PM

  
Peter: I don't get it.  
  
**Harley**: What's not to get? You take the derivative of the equation to find x.  
  
Peter: No, not that.  
  
Peter: What I don't get is how you're smarter than most of the kids at Midtown and yet you're still learning the difference between circles and spheres.  
  
**Harley**: Most of the kids. Including you?  
  
Peter: I will neither confirm nor deny that.  
  
Peter: And that's beside the point. Why aren't you in a gifted program or something?  
  
**Harley**: Would you believe that it was cut to fund the football team?  
  
Peter: The same team you described as having the collective IQ of a pig.  
  
Peter: Rude, by the way.  
  
**Harley**: The very same.  
  
**Harley**: And factual, actually.  
  
Peter: Wow. I didn't think schools did that in real life.  
  
**Harley**: What do you mean?  
  
Peter: You know: the whole getting rid of art and STEM programs to fund sports. I think Midtown has the opposite problem.  
  
**Harley**: I'd imagine, seeing as how the gym coach moonlights as the detention monitor.  
  
Peter: Are there any other schools you could go to?  
  
**Harley**: None in my district.  
  
Peter: What about your sister?  
  
**Harley**: What about her?  
  
Peter: You told me she went to some prestigious boarding school in North Carolina. Can't you join her?  
  
**Harley**:...That's complicated.  
  
Peter: How so?  
  
**Harley**: It just is.  
  
Peter: Sorry, I didn't mean to pry.  
  
**Harley**: No, it's just...There's this one-child policy thing there. Something about only offering one scholarship per household.  
  
Peter: And they offered it to Abby?  
  
**Harley**:...kind of.  
  
Peter: Kind of?  
  
**Harley**: Well, they offered it to me, at first.  
  
Peter: Wait, what?  
  
**Harley**: But then some things happened that led them to doubt the quality of my character and they rescinded their offer.  
  
Peter:...  
  
Peter: Did you set something on fire?  
  
**Harley**: No, I did not set anything on fire.  
  
Peter: Just checking.  
  
**Harley**: Anyway, my scholarship was pulled and offered to Abby instead.  
  
Peter: (・o・)  
  
**Harley**: Which I'm happy about. She deserves better.  
  
Peter: A better school?  
  
**Harley**: Among other things.  
  
**Harley**: Parker, my home life is kind of...chaotic. And not in the fun Tony Stark drinking coffee at midnight and falling asleep watching Star Wars kind of chaotic but the not...good kind.  
  
**Harley**: Mom is in and out of rehab. And I'm...Well, you know how I am. She deserves stability.  
  
Peter: And your Aunt can't give that?  
  
**Harley**: She's more likely to give you a black eye.  
  
Peter:...  
  
**Harley**: I'm joking, Parker. Chill.  
  
Peter: Oh.  
  
Peter: lol.  
  
**Harley**: I hope you can feel me rolling my eyes.  
  
**Harley**: Now show me your next question. I wanna see if I can do it without a calculator.  
  
Peter: You're on.

  
  
***~***

  
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Happy holds the helicopter door open as Tony steps out, surveying the raging sea around them.  
  
The wind whips through his hair as he slides his glasses on. "When have I ever had a bad idea?"  
  
Happy's ensuing snort is probably a little deserved.  
  
Somehow, the interior of the Raft is more unnerving than Tony remembers, all sterile white walls and floors with a distinct antiseptic smell to it all. As he's led to where the more common criminals are kept, he peers over the railing of the elevated walkway to take note of the see-through cells hosting the more interesting variety of evil.  
  
Metahumans.  
  
For a brief moment, he thinks of Wanda, young and scared with her arms in a straitjacket. He shakes the memory away and continues.  
  
"Fifteen minutes, sir." The guard reminds him as he unlocks cell number 19.  
  
"Perfect."  
  
He steps in and closes the door behind him, leaving Happy to do his job and keep him distracted from the peculiarity of Tony Stark visiting the Raft without Ross.  
  
"Who–?" A gravelly voice begins, drawing Tony's gaze to the man inhabiting the room.  
  
Adrian Toomes looks nothing like Tony is expecting, which is odd because even Tony isn't quite sure what he'd been expecting.  
  
He'd seen him briefly on TV when he was dealing with the aftermath of the heist, more concerned with damage control and Peter's broken ribs to actually meet the guy, but now that they were face-to-face, he's kind of disappointed.  
  
He was expecting a monster. Someone capable of selling dangerous alien tech to dangerous criminals. Capable of maneuvering military-grade tech with ease. Capable of stealing a StarkJet.  
  
Someone capable of hurting Peter.  
  
But the man in front of him just seemed...deflated. Tired and world-weary with a scruffy, gray beard that made Tony itch just looking at it. Though he held a book in one hand—Things Fall Apart, a good read—his other hand was preoccupied with turning the wedding around his finger with all the frantic energy of a nervous tick.  
  
Tony feels sorry for him and he hates that; all he wanted to do was get his answers and leave before Ross realized his presence.  
  
"Stark." Even his voice is gray somehow.  
  
"Toomes. Nice place you got here. I'm personally loving the decor." He nods to the potted plant near his bed. "Livens the place up, huh?"  
  
"What are you doing here?" Toomes looks unimpressed already with Tony which is unfortunate because he hasn't even started, really.  
  
"How's the book?" He points at the cover. "Gotta love him. It might be the only book I've read since high school."  
  
"It's fine." Toomes looks wary and Tony immediately tires of the small talk.  
  
"Fine. Let me cut to the chase." He leans back against the door and crosses his arms. "You know who Spider-Man is. Yes or no."  
  
Toomes' eyes dart to the cameras in the corner of his cell and Tony rolls his eyes. "Off the second I walked in. I'm not stupid."  
  
Keaton hesitates long enough for him to get his answer. "Yes."  
  
"Just like I thought." He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "Damn it, Peter."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Tony slides his glasses back on. "In a few days or so, I suspect a colleague of mine will visit and ask for his identity." He spots a picture frame on the bedside table, one he hadn't noticed before walking in. "Maybe he already has. May I?"  
  
He doesn't wait for his reply as he takes the frame and turns it over in his hands. In it is a woman with smooth brown skin and her daughter, assumably. The picture looks recently taken. There's a price sticker still on the frame. Ross got to him first then. "What did he promise you?"  
  
He hears Toomes' dry swallow. "What makes you think he did?"  
  
Tony scoffs. "Oh, he did. I'm waiting, Toomes."  
  
A beat. "He said he could get me out of here."  
  
Bingo.  
  
"Well, he's lying to you. Don't get too down on yourself, it's part of the job description." Tony hands him the picture frame and Toomes takes it from him. He perches on the table. "You wanna know how this plays out, Toomes? You tell him the truth, Ross uses that information to do who knows what to Peter, and you go back to your family. Allegedly. In reality, Ross gets rid of you because you are now a civilian who knows classified information."  
  
"I told him to give me a couple of days before I told him," Toomes says into the ensuing silence.  
  
Tony hums. "Let me do you one better. I shorten your sentence and get you some weekly visits from your beautiful wife and daughter. Lauren, right?" He snaps his fingers. "No, _Liz_. Bright girl. Peter couldn't shut up about her in his voicemails."  
  
"I'd still be in here?"  
  
"Better than being dead."  
  
Toomes frowns.  
  
"Think about it." Tony turns to leave.  
  
"Wait. Why–why tell me the truth? Why help me at all after what I've done?"  
  
Tony hesitates before recovering. "Because Peter says I'm not allowed to kill you. Lucky for you or I might've done what Ross was planning to."  
  
"I was _desperate_," Toomes says in response and Tony closes his eyes briefly. He understands desperation—more than Toomes or anyone might think.  
  
Then he sees Peter, alone and crying for help and he can't feel bad as he closes his heart a little, the well of pity drying up.  
  
"Yeah, well, so was Peter when you tried to kill him, funny that. Think about what I've said." He leaves on that note, the metal door slamming shut behind him.

* * *

  
**Thursday** — 05:16 PM

  
  
**Harley**: _1976.Cadillac.jpg_  
  
Peter: What's this?  
  
**Harley**: This, my good sir, is the future Mrs. Harley James Keener  
  
Peter:...  
  
Peter: Ok, but it's a car.  
  
**Harley**: Just a car? Is the Quinjet just a plane? Is the Empire State Building just a building?  
  
Peter: I think you're a little too into this...  
  
**Harley**: No. I think not.  
  
Peter: Where'd you get this car from anyway?  
  
**Harley**: I found it.  
  
Peter: Where?  
  
**Harley**: My aunt's boyfriend works at the junkyard which, ironically, is the only pleasant thing about him. Anyway, his boss said I could work on it whenever I had time.  
  
Peter: Cool. I think I'm better with software than hardware.  
  
**Harley**: It shows. No offense, Parker, but you're the definition of a future Silicone Valley nerd.  
  
Peter: Hey!  
  
**Harley**: It's true. You're all sweater vests, messy hair, and white converse. All you're missing is a pair of glasses to complete the look.  
  
Peter:...  
  
**Harley**: Wait, did you used to wear glasses?!  
  
Peter:...  
  
**Harley**: Parker.  
  
Peter:...Maybe.  
  
Peter: But I don't need them anymore.  
  
**Harley**: LOL.  
  
Peter: Can we change the subject, please?  
  
**Harley**: Sure. What about?  
  
Peter: The junk car. Can you fix it?  
  
**Harley**: Don't insult me. Of course, I can.  
  
Peter: And after?  
  
**Harley**: His boss will probably tell me to keep it. I'll say no. I find another car. Repeat.  
  
Peter: Why won't you take it?  
  
**Harley**: ┐( ˘_˘)┌  
  
Peter: Harley.  
  
**Harley**: I'm not allowed to, believe it or not. Aunt's rules.  
  
Peter: Why not?  
  
**Harley**: So her boyfriend isn't reminded that a seventeen-year-old high school junior is better at his job than him? I don't know.  
  
**Harley**: She says I antagonize him whenever I do stuff like that. It's why I'm not allowed to work on stuff in her garage anymore.  
  
Peter: Antagonize?  
  
**Harley**: He has self-esteem issues, Parker, I'm a show-off. Keep up.  
  
Peter: I don't see how that's your fault, though.  
  
Peter: Why should you have to stop doing what you love because he's insecure? You're family. Why would she choose him over you?  
  
**Harley**:...  
  
Peter: Sorry, I didn't mean...  
  
**Harley**: No, it's just...You are very naive, Babyface. I forget sometimes.  
  
Peter: How...?  
  
**Harley**: Just because you're family doesn't mean you're their first choice. You're not obligated to choose them.  
  
Peter: You should be.  
  
**Harley**: Not in my experience.  
  
PETER is typing...  
  
**Harley**: Can we talk about something else, please?  
  
Peter: Sure...

  
  
***~***

  
  
"Ok. Talk to me. What's up?"  
  
Rhodey comes out of nowhere, startling Tony from his work and nearly giving him a heart attack. It's a testimony to how distracted he must be if Rhodey's managed to sneak up on him with his metal braces—effortless they move, they lend a certain heaviness to Rhodey's steps that Tony's grown accustomed to.  
  
"What do you mean? Nothing's up. The sky is up, that's what." He deflects, and Rhodey levels him a deeply unimpressed look.  
  
"You've been running yourself ragged lately. I've noticed. Pepper's noticed. Happy, too.  
  
Tony snorts. "That's because you guys are all overprotective, mother-hen stalkers. Honestly, I should file a restraining order against all of you."  
  
Rhodey ignores him because they're best friends for a reason. "Hell, I think that your intern is starting to notice too. He asked me if something was wrong when I ran into him."  
  
Tony arches an eyebrow. "Peter finally managed to string a coherent sentence around you? _Jesus_, something _must_ be wrong."  
  
Rhodey smirks a little. "He stuttered a little and turned red enough to impersonate a tomato but the message was clear. You wanna tell me what's going on?"  
  
Tony can only sigh.  
  
"Does it have anything to do with this?" Rhodey hands him a manilla folder. "I found it outside on your porch. I don't think it's dangerous but we should probably double-check–"  
  
Tony rips it open.  
  
"–or we can open it." Rhodey sighs, crossing his arms. "Let's just do that."  
  
Tony pulls out a single sheet of paper, ice trickling down his spine as his eyes slowly but surely piece together what he's looking at: a picture of Spider-Man. Grainy and nearly impossible to make out but him. Peter.  
  
He turns the page over: _One day left_.  
  
"Damn it." He swears.  
  
"You wanna tell me about this now?"  
  
Tony runs his hands through his hair. "Ross wants Spider-Man in exchange for changes in the Accords."  
  
Rhodey blinks in surprise, straightening up. "What? Why?"  
  
"Hell, if I know," He shakes his head. "But I can't, Rhodes. It's not my secret to give and who knows what Ross has planned."  
  
"_But_?" Rhodey prompts. "There's a but there somewhere."  
  
"_But_," Tony acquiesces. "This could be my _only_ chance to change things. We've been at a stalemate for forever now. Spider-Man's identity could be the thing we need to tip things in our favor."  
  
"The Accords, you mean."  
  
"Maybe we could finally get the others pardoned from being frickin' war criminals." At Rhodey's wary look he quickly amends. "I'm not saying we live like we used to as a big happy family in the tower—that thing's sold anyway—but maybe they can stop hiding out like common criminals."  
  
"I think," Rhodey begins slowly, thoughtfully. "That if it were that simple, you'd have already given Spider-Man's identity up on a silver platter."  
  
"When is it ever?" Tony grumbles, slouching in his chair.  
  
"There'll be time to deal with the Avengers. The world is always going to need heroes, but what's happening with Spider-Man is happening now. Whoever he is, he trusts you enough to draw Ross' suspicion. He's relying on you to keep him safe. Think about that."  
  
He twirls a pen between his fingers. "And Ross?"  
  
"You're Tony Stank." Ross winks as he stands up. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."  
  
Tony groans. "I hate you, you know. No, truly. You're the worst."  
  
Rhodey's laugh follows him out of the office and Tony stares at the picture on his desk for one long moment.  
  
"Friday?"  
  
"Yes, boss?"  
  
"Schedule a meeting with Ross. Tell him we have to talk."  
  


* * *

  
  
**Friday** — 04:52 PM

  
  
**Harley**: _potato_gun_blueprint.jpg_  
  
**Harley**: What do you think?  
  
Peter: Is this the famed potato gun?  
  
**Harley**: The one and only. Version 3.2.  
  
Peter: What happened to the other versions?  
  
**Harley**: A lot of things. They blew up, caught fire, shorted out, got thrown away by my aunt, etc, etc.  
  
Peter: Where does the potato part of this come in?  
  
**Harley**: It doesn't.  
  
Peter: (・o・)  
  
**Harley**: Let's be for real here, Parker. How much damage is a potato really going to do to someone?"  
  
Peter: I thought you did this for fun. Not...damage.  
  
**Harley**: Can't it be both?  
  
**Harley**: Anyway, I replaced the potato chamber with an electrical grid that can stabilize plasma beams for short bursts of time. Pretty cool, right?  
  
Peter: Yeah, I guess.  
  
**Harley**: You guess?  
  
Peter: Harley, these are weapons.  
  
**Harley**: Your point?  
  
Peter: Aside from the fact that these are borderline military-grade weapons? I guess I don't have one, then.  
  
**Harley**: You're making a big deal out of nothing.  
  
Peter: These things seem dangerous. Who are you planning on fighting?  
  
**Harley**: No one. Can't a kid just protect himself? It's a dog eat dog world out there.  
  
Peter: I know but...Harley, these are weapons.  
  
Peter: Whose going to hurt you so bad you need a plasma gun?  
  
**Harley**: You'd be surprised.  
  
Peter: What?  
  
**Harley**: Nothing.  
  
Peter:...You do this a lot you know.  
  
**Harley**: What?  
  
Peter: Say things that make me worry then brush it off like nothing. It scares me.  
  
**Harley**: And heaven forbid I scare you right?  
  
Peter: I...  
  
**Harley**: Just because we talk a couple of times a week, doesn't mean you're entitled to anything.  
  
**Harley**: I was doing fine before you and I can do fine without you.  
  
**Harley**: What happens to me doesn't concern you.  
  
Peter: You're my friend. My friend who lives with an aunt who's more likely to give you a black eye and a boyfriend who scares you. Of course, I'm worried and concerned.  
  
**Harley**: Don't tell Tony.  
  
Peter:...  
  
**Harley**: Promise, Peter. Please.  
  
**Peter**:...I promise.

***~***

Frankly, it's a bit disconcerting having Ross in Tony's space after taking such pains to avoid him, be it by scheduling product debuts in other countries, feigning sickness, or just leaving him on hold.  
  
So, it's definitely weird to have him here in the flesh, moving around his workshop, touching things that grab his attention, and letting his eyes linger on floating diagrams for a bit too long.  
  
He brings backup because of course, he does. Calm, neatly dressed, eminently controlled backup who subtly block all the entrances to the workshop to ensure that Tony is completely and utterly alone.  
  
Only when Ross gets too close to one of the schematics—an upgrade for a shoulder blaster, or something of the like—it shuts off immediately, as well as all the others. Anything that had been on display is effectively moved out of sight, startling everyone in the room.  
  
"Sorry, Secretary Ross, but you do not have the required security clearance to view Boss's inventions." Friday apologizes, though she sounds more smug than apologetic. Tony smirks at Ross's obvious disgruntlement and the way his backup eye the ceiling warily.  
  
Well, not _entirely_ alone.  
  
"Right, then," The Secretary clears his throat, composing himself, and turns to Tony. "I assume you've called me here because you've come to your senses?"  
  
"Quite the opposite, actually." Tony keeps his tone light, rocking back of the balls of his feet. "I'm here to tell you no."  
  
"No?" He raises an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes," Tony nods then immediately shakes his head. "I mean, no. No, I am not giving you what you want."  
  
Ross gives an aggravated sigh, running a hand down his face and rubbing his mustache. "Stark, I need you to _work_ with me here–"  
  
"And if I don't?" Tony asks and Ross steps closer, a steely light entering his eyes.  
  
"Don't do this."  
  
Tony refuses to back down. "Here's what's going to happen, Ross. You are going to step away from this—from Spider-Man. From here on out, consider him property of Stark Industries—_do not touch_."  
  
"Or _what_?"  
  
Tony sets his shoulders. "Or I do something that I regret."  
  
Ross' face twitches. "Are you threatening me?"  
  
"You and I both know that the only reason the Accords went as far as they did was because of me. My name and my influence." Tony leans close, dropping his voice to a growl. "Do _not_ test me on this. You will not like the results."  
  
A moment of silence and something like understanding dawns on Ross' face, his expression breaking open with surprise. "You–you care about him."  
  
"I care about all heroes."  
  
"No, this is more than that." An ugly smile settles on paper-thin lips as Ross moves away. "Be careful, Stark. You're showing your hand."  
  
Ross turns away and starts for the door.  
  
"You haven't promised me," Tony calls after him.  
  
Ross freezes then peers over his shoulder. "I promise to see what I can do."  
  
He waits until Friday informs his that Ross has left the building before sagging heavily, the weight on his shoulders lessening even as his lungs constrict. It's a lie, obviously. Most definitely. But that means there's time to stop it from happening, to keep Peter safe.  
  
"Mr. Stark?"  
  
Tony doesn't know how long it's been since Ross left but it must have been some time because Peter is now walking in, tucking his phone into his pocket as he shifts the pizza box in his hand to the other.  
  
"Friday called me. Are you ok?"  
  
Tony mentally thanks his AI as he gestures Peter forward, moving to meet him halfway. Bemused, Peter listens, setting the pizza down on the metal table next to them. Once he's there, Tony takes his face in his hands and tries to calm his racing heart.  
  
"Um...Mr. Stark?" He asks through squished lips.  
  
"You'd tell me if something happened, right?"  
  
Peter attempts to raise an eyebrow. "Like, what?"  
  
"Anything. If you were in danger or feeling threatened. Right?"  
  
"Of course." He frowns. "Mr. Stark, is something wrong?"  
  
"Nah, kid." Tony exhales slowly and closes his eyes, the darkness and worry in him finally receding. "You?"  
  
"Harley's just being Harley." Peter shakes his head. "Though how he does it through text, I'm still not sure."  
  
"It's a gift." Tony agrees. "You guys get into an argument again?  
  
"Harley makes stupid jokes," Is all Peter says before they turn the subject around.  
  
And hearing Peter laugh as he retells some story from lunch, his arm nearly taking the pizza box completely off the table, Tony realizes that for the first time this week, he feels good.  
  


* * *

  
  
**Sunday **— 09:16 AM

  
  
Peter: Hey, are you okay? You kind of worried me the other day.

  
  
11:06 AM

  
  
Peter: I don't mean to pry but...  
  
Peter: Nevermind. Sorry.

  
  
1:38 PM

  
  
Peter: I just...Are you sure you're okay?

  
  
  
**Monday **— 05:46 PM

  
  
Peter: Harley, I'm getting worried.

  
  
**Tuesday** — 7:27 PM

  
  
Peter: If you don't call me tomorrow, I'm telling Tony about everything: your jokes, the blueprints, your aunt, everything.  
  
Peter: Please just call me. Please.

**Wednesday** — 7:27 PM

Peter: Harley?


	6. In Which Shit Hits the Fan (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley shrugs. "Nothing, just you seem the type to spazz out."
> 
> Peter feels wrongfooted. "I–Is that an insult?
> 
> "Depends." Harley places his chin in the palm of his right hand, looking genuinely curious. "You wanna be a spazz?"
> 
> ....Annnnddddd Peter's had just about enough of this. "Friday, open the light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you are all staying safe! I, personally, am super bored and have just finished the first part of this two-part chapter, story arc thing.
> 
> At this point, I'm getting tired of proofreading, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Disclaimer: Vague references to child abuse. Nothing too graphic or in detail.)

Sometimes, Peter gets stuck in his own head.

And by "_sometimes_" he means "_all the damn time, just stop thinking already, god_," but he finds it can't be helped. Not by the therapists he used to see as a kid, the guidance counselors in middle school, and certainly not by the grief counselor whom May forced the two of them to see after Ben's death.

The best he can explain it is that there are too many things piled up in his head, too many restless thoughts clambering for his attention, but he's _managing_, okay? _Has managed_, in fact, to ride out the frenetic energy that makes his heartbeat even faster than it used to since the spider bite until he's fixed whatever needs fixing, or until the situation is over—whichever comes first.

If he can just control everything, it’s fine. He likes being in control, he’s good at it (kind of, he's working on it). It’s just how things have always been.

Leave it to _Harley Keener_ to throw it all into chaos with his vanishing act.

Friday (the weekday, not the AI) arrives with an empty inbox and still no news from Harley, and yeah, Peter's starting to get a little nervous.

But he's not panicking. He's not.

Panicking implies that something is wrong and there _isn't_ anything wrong.

(A treacherous, little voice in the back of his head asks, "_Are you sure about that?_" and Peter bats it away.)

He is in total control. He's just...worried, and it's normal to be worried about your friends, right? (Even if said "_friend_" just barely manages to be squeezed into the designation and still doesn't quite fit as he should. Peter's still trying to decide whether or not he likes the guy and a week of texting, admittedly, does not a strong friendship make.)

Peter worries about MJ and Ned all the time, _which_, now that he's taking the time to think about it, sounds _really_ unhealthy, like, _wow_, but he's of the opinion that all heroes require a healthy dose of paranoia to keep the ones they love safe.

And anyway, that's not the point.

The _point_ is, so what if it's been nearly a week since Harley last texted him? If he's lost sleep over texts constructed but never sent? So what if he's resorted to biting the skin around his nails because he bit them down to near stubs?

Harley's just being Harley. He's fine. He has to be.

(_Are you sure_?)

He just wishes he could get his stupid brain to believe it.

"–I don't know. Maybe I'm imagining it, but I swear that woman is out to get me," May is saying as she pours herself a cup of coffee. Her dark hair is tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck and she makes a pained noise when she burns her tongue on the first sip. Peter glances up once to check on her then looks back down. "_Shi_–Shoot. That's hot. Anyway, you should've seen the way she talked to Happy. She might as well have thrown herself at him there on the street and–Peter?"

He looks up, startled, and tries not to feel like a deer caught in headlights. "Hm?"

"You haven't touched your plate, yet." Her brows furrow in concern. "Is everything all right?"

"I–Yeah, why?" He scrolls through his texts. No reply from Harley. It's fine.

(_Are you sure?_)

"I don't know, maybe because this is the tenth time you've checked your phone since sitting down?" May sounds a tad annoyed now and Peter drops his phone back on to the table guiltily.

"Just waiting for Ned to respond. I had a question about the test today." The lie rolls off of his tongue.

"Well, maybe he's eating his breakfast like a particular growing spider-boy should be." She raises an eyebrow and Peter flushes as he pushes his phone further away.

"Okay, first of all, It's Spider-Man–"

"–You're barely sixteen!–"

"–And second I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."

May snorts as she raises her cup back to her mouth. "How?"

Peter wastes no time shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth and May throws her hand up, rolling her eyes. "Oh, my–Is this what Tony teaches you when I'm not around?"

"Mwhwh."

"Close your mouth before you choke, love." She slides him a glass of orange juice. "Speaking of that infuriating, little man, he left me a message last night."

"Whaw?" Peter attempts.

She makes a face at him and he closes his mouth again. "He's out of state for the weekend. Happy too."

He swallows the rest down with his juice. "Why?"

"Hell, if I know. Rich people stuff." She wrinkles her nose and shrugs. "I'll be getting home a little later today. You okay with taking the bus?"

"Who needs the bus when you're Spider-Man?" Peter tries to joke, but it's half-hearted, his mind already wandering back to the nauseating buzz in the pit of his stomach. He scrambles for a distraction. "Tell me more about Carla. What else did she do?"

May scowls, leaning on her elbows in front of him. "What _didn't_ she do? I don't even know where to begin–"

Peter's phone stays worryingly silent all throughout breakfast.

***~***

The buzzing only gets louder when he's in school as if to compensate for the hum of low conversation, screeching chairs, and raucous laughter in first period. He breaks three mechanical pencils and a pen before Ned takes away his fourth and holds it out of reach.

"Dude, is something wrong?" Ned isn't always the most perceptive, easily distracted with a tendency to focus on the most inane details in the grand scheme of things (_"I just...Are you sure you can't lay eggs?" "Ned, I'm kind of in the middle of something here!" "Yeah, but still–Hey, watch out for that taser!")_, but when it matters most, he's more tuned in to his moods than MJ sometimes.

Peter offers a weak smile. "What? No, I'm fine. Just nervous about the test next period."

"You're kidding me, right? You're basically fluent at this point and Ms. Castillo loves you." Ned nudges his shoulder. "You'll be fine."

"Thanks." He reaches for his pencil again and Ned moves it away entirely.

He tosses him a stress ball instead. "Before someone thinks you're on drugs or something." He says in explanation and they briefly share matching grins.

A couple of minutes into the lesson, Ned leans close. "Hey, you haven't heard from Harley lately, have you?"

The buzz which had settled into comfortable background noise kicks up a notch.

Peter tries not to react. Squeezes the stress ball harder. "No. Why?"

Ned shrugs, already taking down the next set of notes. "No reason. We used to send each other Lego models on Instagram. And before you ask, no not that kind."

Peter's tempted to ask what other kinds there _are_ when Ned starts up again. "Anyway, he hasn't sent me anything lately."

Peter frowns. "When was the last time you guys talked?"

"Last Thursday, maybe? Friday? I don't know."

Huh.

"I'm sure he's fine," Peter reassures, even if the words to little to soothe his own anxieties.

(As he begins to write, a little voice whispers, "_Are you sure?_")

**~**

"You look like shit," MJ announces her presence with all her usual finesse, her tray coming down on the table with a light thump as she settles across from him and Ned.

"I'm doing good today, MJ. Thanks for asking." He shares an incredulous look with Ned and MJ only shrugs before stealing the apple off his tray.

She takes a large bite. "What? It's true. Tell him, Ned."

"She's...not wrong?" Ned says slowly, avoiding his gaze. Traitor. "And you can't say it's the Spanish test because you're done with that."

"Spill, loser." MJ nudges his leg under the table.

"I'm just...worried about Harley." He admits, a part of him hoping that voicing his worries would finally calm the storm brewing inside of him. If anything, it only cracks open the door he's been hoping to keep closed a little while longer.

"Why?" She takes another bite of the apple as she opens her latest book, already appearing disinterested in his answer, but he knows better.

Because his home life sounds scary, he doesn't say. Because there's a chance he's hurt. Because I should've pressed harder or maybe I didn't press enough. Because because because–

"I don't know." He says instead, feigning nonchalance. "He hasn't texted me in a while. It's probably nothing."

"Hm." MJ simply hums, turning a page. "Nothing doesn't make you look like an underpaid zombie extra."

He resists the urge to touch his face and instead forces a yawn. It comes easier than expected. "I was out late as you-know-who. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"_What?_" Ned exclaims, already pouting. "And you didn't call me? I need some more training if Mr. Stark is going to make me your official guy-in-the-chair."

"I really doubt Mr. Stark cares, Ned," Peter reassures, happy for the change in subject. "And I've already made you my guy-in-the-chair. You don't need Mr. Stark to knight you. Er, chair you, I guess, whatever."

"Still."

Peter rolls his eyes playfully. "We'll practice later this week, okay? I can't exactly avoid it—Karen misses you."

Ned brightens considerably. "She does?"

"Don't get too excited," MJ snorts, finally on board with the conversation. "She's still doesn't count as a real girl."

Ned splutters, ears turning red. "_Wha-?!_ Don't let Betty hear you say that. We're on the off phase of our on-and-off relationship right now and I don't want her to think I'm seeing anyone else."

MJ gives him a long and hard look over the top of her book. "Trust me. She knows."

Peter laughs, Ned pouts, and MJ smirks, and for one utterly perfect moment, everything's okay and it doesn't feel like the world is crashing down around him.

***~***

It doesn't last long, of course. Until history class, to be specific.

There's a substitute teacher who's more interested in her phone than the class, and the movie she puts on looks old enough to have been filmed around the same time the Vietnam War was happening.

The entirety of the class is either fast asleep, doing their homework, or engrossed in silent conversation.

Peter isn't. (_*Read: physically and mentally unable to stop reading the last couple messages from Harley in hopes of finding...something. Whatever _something_ is.*_)

Ned is in AP Computer Science right now and MJ is either hiding out in the library or playing at being an office aide even though she hates most people.

So, there's no one to notice his splintering when it starts. No one to calm him with terrible jokes and badly whispered intrusive questions. No one to punch him gently in the arm and call him stupid for getting so worked up over hypotheticals.

He had kept it together for a time, but now Peter was beginning to spiral. What if Harley was hurt? What if he wasn't? What if Peter was freaking out (_he's admitting it, okay?_) for no reason?

What if what if what if what if–?

He shoots up from his chair with a screech, and everyone within a five desk radius swivels their heads toward him.

His face warms at the sudden attention and he quickly clears his throat. "Um...Can I go see the nurse, please? I'm not feeling very well."

The sub blinks in surprise. "Sure, dude."

Peter swings his backpack out of the chair and books it out the door, just barely remembering to grab the hall pass.

He ducks into the nearest bathroom and quickly throws some water on his face, hoping to cool the flush no doubt rising to his cheeks as he struggles to keep the buzzing under control.

It's becoming more and more likely that everything's fine and Peter's working himself up into a frenzy for no other reason than Harley being a dick and—

_Bring. Brrrinng._

It takes Peter a solid minute to recognize his ringtone and another thirty seconds to fumble it out of his pocket. He nearly drops it in the sink twice.

"Harley?" He answers without looking at the screen, hoping against hope it's him or otherwise, he's going to have some explaining to do.

Silence. He quickly checks the Caller ID then presses it back to his ear.

"Harley?" A sliver of panic slips down Peter's spine. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"...I'm fine." Peter has never known two words to sound so heavy.

"You don't sound fine." Peter says after a moment because what else could he say besides, "_Oh, my gosh, where the hell have you been, you had me worried sick, you stupid idiot?!_"

The silence is long enough that Peter's afraid he's been hung up on.

"I'm fine," Harley repeats dully. "You?"

Peter opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before stringing a sentence together. "Um...Good." He squeaks then immediately clears his throat.

"Good." Harley hums. "How's Lucia? I missed her gelato back in Tennessee."

The normalcy of the conversation leaves Peter feeling unbalanced.

"...Good," he repeats then gives himself a mental shake. "Harley, where are you?"

"Hey, I've been wondering: Does she have cheesecake flavor? I love cheesecake and I love gelato, so it only makes sense to bring them togethe–"

"Harley!" Peter doesn't have time for this, whatever "_this_" is. He's still not sure he's not five seconds away from a panic attack. "Where are you?"

A heavy sigh. "I'm at Tony's place."

Peter frowns. "But Mr. Stark isn't–You know what, nevermind. Stay right there, I'm coming."

Harley laughs, but it sounds off. Strained. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it the middle of the school day? Take it from a former high school delinquent: stay in school, Parker."

"This isn't the first time I've ditched." Peter's already slinging his backpack over his shoulder and making his way out of the door. The hall pass remains on the bathroom sink.

"You really don't have to–"

"Stay there." He pushes past the school doors, careful to avoid Mr. Morita's office entirely.

Another sigh and Peter wonders what happened to Harly to make him sound so tired. "...Fine. Whatever."

***~***

A fifteen-minute bus ride later and Peter finds Harley in Tony's garage, perched on a stool at the worktable with his left arm awkwardly bunched in front of him while he scratches something down on a blueprint.

The lights are turned down low, a couple of notches from being off completely.

"Eco or arc reactor?" Harley says in lieu of a response that makes sense when he enters and Peter blinks a couple of times.

"What?"

He’s taken up a spot near the car Peter likes the best and he's snacking on some Goldfish like he's not in major trouble for breaking and entering.

He also has the nerve to look offended that Peter disturbed his work.

“Who let you in here?” Peter asks as he steps further into the room.

Harley rolls his eyes and continues as if he hasn't heard him. "I'm designing a motor and I need ideas. Eco or arc reactor?"

"Eco, obviously. The arc reactor is patented technology and–" Peter frowns, trying to stay on topic. "Harley, why are the lights off?"

"Obviously, I was aiming for a dramatic entrance." Harley snarks before his smile falters. "Seriously, though, I'm trying to keep you from spazzing."

"_To keep me from_–What are you talking about?"

Harley shrugs. "Nothing, just you seem the type to spazz out."

Peter feels wrongfooted. "I–Is that an insult?

"Depends." Harley places his chin in the palm of his right hand, looking genuinely curious. "You wanna be a spazz?"

_....Annnnddddd_ Peter's had just about enough of this. "Friday, open the light."

"_No–!_" The lights flicker on so fast that Peter has to squint against the sudden assault of his senses. "Damnit, Parker."

His blinks until his vision clears and finally sees what Harley was so desperate to hide from him.

The other teen looks horrible. Wrinkled shirt and jeans aside, his arm is in a sling and there's a fresh bruise replacing the one he had several weeks ago when Peter first met him.

He rushes over, closing the distance between them. "_Oh my_–What happened?!"

Harley manages to look even more annoyed with Peter's presence somehow and leans away from him. "Stop spazzing. You promised."

"You're hurt," Peter states because what else is there to say.

"Oh, am I? I hadn't noticed." Harley's voice is more barbed that what Peter remembers and he almost takes a step back in hurt when Harley squeezes his eyes shut with a grimace. "I'm sorry, I didn't–I'll explain everything, just. Chill. Please. It's hard enough keeping calm as is without you being..._you_."

Now, that...that was definitely an insult.

Peter forces himself to relax, steels his nerves. "Okay." He takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart. "Okay. How'd you get in here anyway?"

"I broke in," Harley says.

"You broke in," Peter repeats because why doesn't that surprise him.

"I call it payback." Harley's smile lacks its familiar mischievous glow, wan and strained. Up close his bruise is several shades of black and dark purple.

Peter can't help himself. "Did your aunt do this?"

Harley's smile disappears and he stays silent. Peter thinks back on their texts.

"Her boyfriend?" Peter amends quietly and something like fear flickers in Harley's eyes before he deliberately tamps down on it and looks back at his blueprints.

Peter sighs. Okay. He can do this. "You can't stay here."

Harley shrugs. "Sure, I can."

"No, you _can't_. Mr. Stark's gone for the weekend." He doesn't have to think long for a solution. "Why don't you come home with me?"

Harley snorts. "I can't do that.

"Sure, you can." Peter's slowly warming up to the idea. "May won't mind and you don't have to be alone."

Harley's shoulders tense. "I don't have a problem being alone."

_I do_, Peter doesn't say.

"Please? For my peace of mind?" Peter tries his puppy eyes and Harley stares him down for what feels like forever before rolling his eyes with a sigh and pushing himself off of his stool.

"Fine. Whatever. Just stop looking at me like that. It's creepy."

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, hand me my duffle bag, would you?"

***~***

"Are you hungry?" Peter asks as he pushes his apartment door open and lets Harley in. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water would be nice." He mumbles, having reverted to the version of himself Peter spoke with over the phone, quiet and distant, eyes faraway as he hoists his duffle bag further up his shoulder. As he looks around, Peter races over to the kitchen to grab a water bottle and a granola bar.

He hands both to Harley who looks down at the bag with a small smile.

"What no Pop-Tarts?"

"May's trying to curb my, quote-unquote "_addiction_." He shrugs. "They're kind of banned at the moment."

"You have something of an obsession, huh?"

"Something like that," Peter admits, grabbing a water bottle for himself. "Can I ask you a question?"

Harley narrows his eyes. "You can try."

"How'd you get to New York?"

Harley sets his duffle bag down and rips the bag open with his teeth. "The Greyhound is a marvelous invention, Parker."

"I'm sure it is," He shifts, twisting the water bottle between his hands. "All alone?"

"I'm _seventeen_, Parker, not _seven_. I know how to ride the bus by myself." He winks. "I'm a big boy."

He ignores _that_ and does the mental math. "That's like a fifteen-hour drive."

"Eh, more like fourteen and a half." Harley takes a bite of his granola bar. "Which isn't as bad as you think. I was asleep for most of it."

"Does Mr. Stark know you're here?" Peter broaches hesitantly, and somehow he already knows the answer before Harley looks away guiltily.

He's saved from having to formulate a reply to that piece of information by the front door suddenly swinging open, May appearing in the doorway and looking more frantic than Peter's seen her in a while.

"May?" He straightens up and Harley freezes like a deer in the headlights.

"_Peter?!_" She nearly shrieks, kicking the door behind her. "What the hell are you doing here, you had me worried sick!"

"I–"

"Why aren't you in school?" She demands, all but throwing her purse down. "Why are you at home? Why did I get a call from the principal that you've been caught ditching again? _Why are you trying to give me gray hairs before my time?!_"

A laugh slips from Harley and May looks at him uncomprehendingly.

"I had to help a friend of mine." Peter hurries to say when she looks like she's taking a breath and May finally seems to recognize Harley's presence.

"Oh." She blinks a couple of times then smooths down her hair in what Peter assumes is an effort to look less unhinged. "Hello."

Harley plasters on his heartbreaker smile like its second-nature. "Hello, ma'am. Nice to meet you."

"You too, Mr...?" She trails off questioningly and Peter jumps in.

"Harley is Mr. Stark's other intern and he needed somewhere to stay for the weekend. There were some scheduling problems." May looks increasingly incredulous and Harley looks amused at his lying capabilities. Quite frankly, lying to May is always a gamble; something's fly over her head, others not so much. He's hoping right now it's the latter.

"Is that okay?" He finishes somewhat sheepishly.

May exhales long and hard. Rubs her face with both hands. "I wish you would've called to let me know instead of giving me a heart attack, but yeah. Yeah, it's okay. Nice to meet you, Harley."

When her hands drop she gives him a quick once over and frowns. "You're looking a little roughed up, sweetie. You doing okay?"

Harley's smile grows tight. "Yeah. Just a motorcycle accident."

May seems to buy it even if Peter doesn't and she nods. "Right, well, there's dinner in the fridge if you guys get hungry. Some leftover takeout and pizza from the other night." She shoulders her purse once more. "I need to go back to work."

She darts in close and presses a kiss to Peter's forehead. "We're going to have a talk about this tonight, mister. And I'm talking consequences with a capital _c_."

She drags out the letter and Peter winces. Somehow he knows Spider-Man won't be hanging out as late as he used to.

May leaves after laying down the house rules and Harley has a wistful expression on his face when the door closes and her heel clicks fade away. "Your aunt's pretty cool."

"She's going to kill me when she gets back from work, but thanks," Peter replies, feeling a weight lift off his shoulder with May gone.

Harley looks away, avoiding his gaze. "Sorry."

"_No, I mean_–It's not a big deal." Peter hurries to reassure him. "I'm in trouble most of the time anyway."

"You?" Harley snorts. "For what?"

_Something I can't talk to you about and shouldn't have brought up in the first place._

"How about dinner?" He asks out loud.

Once dinner is over _(and Peter means that in the _loosest_ sense of the word, May's been busy this week_), they close themselves up in Peter’s room and Peter locks the door.

There's a beat of awkward silence as Harley looks around his room, and Peter tries to see it through his eyes.

It's a lot less messy than usual, and _thank God_ May reminded him to put his suit in the closet before he went to school today or there would be a _lot_ of explaining to do right now. There are several Lego models in the corner, courtesy of Ned and himself, and a small bedside table that holds framed pictures of his friends, May and Ben, and his parents. The latter of them is crowded in the back, collecting dust and hidden from wandering eyes. Particularly his own.

Harley's gaze lingers on those the longest before moving on to his desk.

He snorts a little as he shifts through stacks of notes and old comic books. "You know, for someone who keeps their lab station obsessively neat, you're room is the epitome of organized chaos."

"Like you're any better."

"I like to think I am." He settles in the desk chair and Peter leans back against the door.

There's another beat of silence.

"Tony doesn't know I'm in New York." He finally says and Peter tries not to startle.

"Are you going to tell him?" He asks.

Harley's silence tells him all he needs to know.

"Harley, I have his number, you could–"

"_No!_" Harley interrupts loudly. And then softer, "Don't. Please."

"But–"

"You promised, remember?" He pleads with large, blue eyes. "You promised you wouldn't tell."

But Peter's shaking his head. "That was before you were hurt. Mr. Stark would know what to do."

"And who says I don't?" Harley bites but his easy confidence is missing. There are dark circles under his eyes and Peter wonders if he was lying about sleeping on the bus.

"What are you going to do?" Peter asks.

Harley shrugs, opening a random comic book to a random page. "I'm sure I'll figure it out. Until then..."

"Until then you can stay here," Peter says, leaving no room for argument. When Harley looks up at him incredulously he shrugs. "May already thinks you're staying here for the weekend."

Harley looks like he's trying to look less relieved. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Top bunk's all yours." 

He looks unsure, biting his bottom lip, but finally, he offers a smile that looks more crooked than not. "Thanks."

Peter smiles back and tries to project confidence he doesn't feel.

***~***

"Am I still in trouble?" Peter asks when May walks in late at night, hair disheveled and frozen in mid-yawn.

"_Yes_, but we'll discuss your punishment when I can think in coherent sentences." May smiles tiredly and then frowns a little. "You okay? You look like you got something on your mind."

"What do you do if someone needs help but they don't want it?" Peter blurts out.

May raises an eyebrow, visibly taken aback. "Wow. Okay. We're talking about Harley, aren't we?"

Peter grimaces.

"His _bruises_, Peter..." May begins gently.

"He didn't tell me what happened and I didn't want to push it but I don't know how to help. He doesn't want me to help." Peter says hopelessly.

"Well, what do you think?" Aunt May asks, smile kind. "Something tells me you wouldn't be asking if you didn't already know what to do."

***~***

The phone rings once and then a soft click.

"Hey, Pete, what's up? How was that Spanish test of yours?"

"Hi, Mr. Stark. Um. Can we talk? It's about Harley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Tell me your opinions: DO you think Peter is overreacting or the right amount of concerned? I tried not to overdo it so much. Do you think he's doing the right thing?
> 
> What about Harley?
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> ❤️ ❤️ ❤️


	7. In Which Shit Hits the Fan (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? A chapter the very next week! :O  
I wasn't kidding about the downtime and boredom guys! That, and I've gotten a renewed interest in this series.  
This chapter isn't too long, just the second part to the previous one. I'm thinking one more chapter and then this story arc closes up.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> (Disclaimer: Vague references to child abuse. Nothing too graphic or in detail.)

There’s a knock on the apartment door at 10 AM, interrupting the comfortable background noise of pots and pans clanging in the sink as May attempts to wash the dishes only for Harley to sidle up to her and take her place.  
  
"I've got it, Ms. Parker." His smile is syrupy-sweet, his southern drawl thicker than Peter remembers, and Peter just barely resists the urge to throw up.  
  
"That is so sweet. Thank you, Harley." She smiles gratefully and dries her hands on her jeans, rounding the kitchen counter and disappearing into the foyer. "Help him, Peter!" She throws over her shoulder.  
  
"_Thank you, Harley_." Peter mimics when she's out of sight, taking his own plate to the sink. "Seriously, you're making me look bad."  
  
"Well, someone has to," Harley grins, mocking. "You're practically perfect, otherwise." He winks.  
  
"I'm not perfect." Peter scoffs. Far from it, in fact.  
  
"Your photo album of blue ribbons and baby photos say otherwise." Harley hands him a plate to dry and Peter groans as he does so.  
  
"I hate that she showed you that. So much."  
  
"It was cute. I especially liked the one where you almost electrocuted yourself with your potato clock." Harley laughs, handing him a pan. For someone in a cast, he's unusually deft with his fingers.  
  
"Shouldn't you be wearing your sling?" Peter asks, humor turning to worry. "What if you pull or dislocate something?"  
  
"Is that your expert medical opinion?" Harley smirks and nudges Peter's shoulder. "I'll be fine."  
  
Peter glances at his profile, takes in a strong nose and golden lashes. "You're in a good mood this morning."  
  
"There a reason why I shouldn't be?" Harley hums, turning off the sink and flicking the water off his fingers.  
  
"No," Peter says, drawing the last letter out as his phone burns against his front pocket, incriminating. "Yes. Not--not yet, at least."  
  
Harley stops and looks at him. "You look sick. What's wrong?"  
  
Peter _feels_ sick, nauseous. He did the right thing..._right?_

***~***

"Hey, Pete, what's up? How was that Spanish test of yours?" Mr. Stark's tiny voice sounds even louder tucked into Peter's ear as he perches on the toilet chair, leg pulled underneath him.  
  
"Hi, Mr. Stark. Um." He presses his forehead against his knees then lifts it again. "Can we talk? It's about Harley."  
  
"You've heard from him?" Tony asks, and Peter can make out the shuffling of papers at the end of the line. "I just got notified that he's been out for most of the week sick. What's he got—the measles or something?"  
  
"I–No." Peter squeezes his eyes shut. "It's–He broke his arm."  
  
A beat of stunned silence. "Oh. Really? Huh. Guess that explains it, but why didn't he..." Tony trails off, clears his throat instead, but Peter catches what goes unsaid: _Why didn't he tell me?_  
  
"Well, if that's all," Tony sounds like he's trying a _little_ bit too hard to be normal again, flippant and carefree, and Peter makes his decision then and there.  
  
"No, that's not all, actually." He admits.  
  
"_Okay._" Tony sounds more amused now than anything. Another rustle of papers. "You sound weird, kid. You sure _you_ haven't caught anything?"  
  
Spit it out, Peter. "I found Harley in your garage yesterday. The one near Queens."  
  
"...Did you now?" He asks after a particularly lengthy silence. "Pray tell, why?"  
  
"I–I think he should be the one to tell you." Peter avoids the question. "He's staying with me and May right now, though. So you don't have to worry too much."  
  
A flat laugh. "Too late, kid. What are you not telling me?"  
  
"I think you need to call him," Peter suggests hesitantly. "Something happened and I think he might need help."  
  
"Is he okay?" Another rustle of papers and the sound of someone in the background.  
  
"I don't know," Peter admits. Over the line he hears Tony take a deep breath and exhale slowly.  
  
"Okay. Okay, here's what you're going to do. You are going to go to sleep—if it's late here, I don't even wanna _know_ what time it is over there—and leave the rest to me. I'll talk to him tomorrow, okay? Make sure he stays put."  
  
"Thanks, Mr. Stark." Peter breathes.  
  
"No, thank you. Good night, kid."

***~***

"Parker?" Harley asks, tugging him from his thoughts.  
  
"I may have done something–" Peter begins but he doesn't get to finish because May appears in the kitchen with Tony in tow, decked out in dark jeans, a sports blazer, a Black Sabbath t-shirt, and his signature shades.  
  
"You know, Peter didn't mention you'd be stopping by." May is saying as she gives Peter a look he shrinks underneath.  
  
Next to him, Harley goes rigid and Peter tries not to react.  
  
"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly tell the kid when I would be coming." Tony grins. It's funny what people notice before imminent death. Like the fact that Tony's lenses are a cobalt blue today, turning Peter's reflection watery as he comes close. "How you doing, Peter?"  
  
Like Harley's about to murder me. "_Good_." He squeaks then promptly clears his throat. "I didn't know you'd be coming today."  
  
"Change of plans." He turns his gaze on Harley who happens to be looking anywhere but at Tony. The hand that's not in a cast is curled into a fist at his side.  
  
"Hey, Harley." Tony greets, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna tell me what you're doing here? You're not supposed to visit for another week, at least."  
  
"Really? Must've gotten the dates mixed up." Harley lies, all wide-eyed and innocent. “I’m sorry. I stopped by your house and that's when I ran into Peter. He helped out."  
  
Peter wonders why the last three sound more like: "_He stabbed me in the back with a rusty knife_."  
  
It's obvious Tony isn’t buying it for a second. Probably because all three of them are very aware that Harley can lie like he breathes, naturally, and very good at it.  
  
“_Mhmm_," Tony hums after eyeing his cast with an indiscernible expression. "Thanks for looking out for him, May,”  
  
“He’s still welcome to spend the night,” May offers, pulling her jacket closer around her.  
  
“No, it's fine. I should probably call his aunt and get this sorted out before she files a missing child alert or something.” Tony tucks his hands into his pockets. “Harley, do you have a bag?”  
  
Harley nods sullenly. “I’ll get it.”  
  
"I'll help." Peter runs after him.  
  
“If you’re sure,” May is saying as they leave. “How's Happy?"  
  
Peter closes the bedroom door behind him as Harley busies himself with stuffing everything back in his bag.  
  
"Harley." He attempts.  
  
"_Don't_."  
  
Peter pushes through regardless. “I didn’t know what else to do when I found you.”  
  
"Here's an idea: Don't call Tony behind my back! _Especially_ after I told you not to."  
  
"I didn't tell him anything." Peter retorts.  
  
"You didn't need to, he already knows just by looking at me." Harley laughs bitterly, still turned away. "God, you're just so desperate for his approval, aren't you? Is that why you called?"  
  
Peter's face burns as he splutters in disbelief. "This isn't about approval, it's about helping you–!"  
  
Harley whirls on him, eyes blazing. "–I've told you before: I don't _need_ or _want_ your help. _I don't need anyone's help!_" His voice cracks unexpectedly, hurt lacing his next words. "You _lied_ to me."  
  
"I didn't tell him _anything_!" Peter repeats, a little desperately this time.  
  
Harley says nothing, mutinously silent as he pushes past Peter and back into the kitchen where Tony gently steers him over to the front door. "C'mon, kid. Happy's waiting outside."  
  
Harley looks down at his boots but nods stiffly.  
  
"What do we say?" Tony sing-songs, grasping his shoulder and keeping him from darting away. Harley makes a face before forcibly smoothing it over.  
  
"Thank you, Ms. Parker."  
  
"You're welcome." May smiles.  
  
Tony lets go of him then and he's quick to leave, the door falling shut behind him.  
  
"I should go before he tries to run away." He winks at Peter and ruffles his hair. "I'll talk to you soon, okay? You did good."  
  
Peter nods and even manages a small smile, but the minute Tony leaves his eyes burn with hurt and his face feels flush with something like anger.  
  
May notices because she's a superhero in her own right and grabs her purse off the hooks on the wall. "How about some gelato today? Hm?"  
  
He can't help but laugh, blinking away tears that thankfully don't fall. "But it's still morning."  
  
"I won't say anything if you don't." She punches his shoulder playfully. "Consider it out cheat day."

Peter looks at the door and a second later, May wraps her arms around him. "Things will work itself out, Peter. Trust me."

"I hope so." He whispers.

***~***

Harley all but throws his bag across the room when he pushes his bedroom door open, kicking crumbled pieces of blueprint and broken pencils across the floor on his trek to the middle of the room.  
  
"Hey, c'mon now!"  
  
He ignores Tony and falls face-first into his unmade bed, ignoring the twinge of pain that shoots up his arm. Somewhere behind him he hears Tony sigh tiredly. "Don't be mad, Harley. He did the right thing."  
  
Harley says nothing.  
  
"You wanna tell me what happened?"  
  
"_Nothing_." He mumbles through a mouthful of sheets.  
  
"Harley."  
  
Harley turns over on to his back, glaring up at the ceiling. "Nothing. I was being stupid and myself and he got mad."  
  
"He?"  
  
"My aunt's boyfriend. He–He gets mad at me sometimes."  
  
"Mad?" Tony's voice sounds tight.  
  
"Yeah, you know."  
  
"I _don't_ actually. Why don't you tell me?"  
  
"I–" He squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to touch the bruise on his cheek. "_God_, why are you making me do this?"  
  
"Because I'm the grown-up in this situation." A nudge to his side. "Scooch over, I'm going to lay down next to you, don't make it weird."  
  
"_You're_ making it weird," Harley grumbles, but he moves over anyway. He has room to spare on this king-sized bed, so different from the twin he has back in Rose Hill tucked into the far corner of his Aunt's house. "Take your shoes off."  
  
"I will when you do, hypocrite." Tony jabs, settling next to him with a grunt. "You're getting dirt all over the sheets, by the way."  
  
"I'll clean them," Harley reassures.  
  
"And have you shrink my underwear again?" Tony snorts. "No, thank you. I'll deal with it."  
  
"That happened once–"  
  
"Are you kidd–It was _twice_!"  
  
Harley can't help but laugh at his muffled outrage and Tony joins him shortly after, the sound filling up the dark spaces in his chest for one perfect moment. The silence returns far too soon, falling like a shroud, and Harley is suddenly painfully aware of the ache in his arm and the steady throb of pain beneath his eye.  
  
"I'm sorry." Tony breaks the quiet first. "You don't...You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to but can you answer me this: Did he break your arm? And give you that shiner?"  
  
He opens his mouth to speak but the words stick to his throat, refusing to leave.  
  
"Harley?"  
  
"Yes." Harley's horrified when his voice cracks and his eyes grow wet with tears. His breathing hitches, catching on a smothered sob. He blinks quickly and roughly clears his throat but Tony isn't easily fooled. He inhales sharply and Harley's about to turn away and leave or _something_ when the inventor somehow maneuvers an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close.  
  
He stiffens briefly before relaxing into his side, the touch foreign but strangely welcome considering the most they've ever shared consisted more of ruffled hair, playful punches, and sarcastic exchanges.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" Tony whispers after he's managed to steady his breathing.  
  
"I had it handled." Harley struggles to pull away, shame slowly sinking its claws into him, but Tony only tightens his grip.  
  
"What, were you going to stay there and be his punching bag?"  
  
Harley can't help himself. He flinches.  
  
"_Wait_, no I–I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Tony swears under his breath. "I'm just. Scared. And mad. And a whole other clusterfuck of bad feelings."  
  
Harley chuckles, humorlessly. "Ditto."  
  
"Am I absolutely terrible at this?" Tony asks, a wry twist to his lips and a strange light in his eyes. Harley smiles weakly.  
  
"If I say yes will you stop hugging me?"  
  
"Yes." Tony promptly releases him and Harley rolls back onto his back. "You know, it's a lot less weird with Peter."  
  
"Is it really though?"  
  
"Surprisingly, _yes_. He's like a puppy."  
  
Harley grins even as he catches on to what Tony's doing. "You're trying to distract me."  
  
The inventor gives a noncommittal hum. "Is it working?"  
  
"Maybe." He hesitates, then asks. "What are you going to do? About it all?"  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"Tony."  
  
"We'll talk about this later okay?" Tony offers a strained, but genuine smile. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll have someone to check your arm tomorrow."  
  
"I'm not tired." He mumbles, even as his eyes suddenly feel like tiny weights are attached. The fifteen-hour bus ride is starting to take its toll on him.  
  
"Uh, huh." The bed moves underneath him as Tony swings himself off with a groan. Covers are pulled up to his chin and a hand briefly runs through his hair. "Then when all _that's_ dealt with, we'll talk about your apology to Peter because that's _definitely_ a thing that's happening."  
  
Harley's conscious enough to cringe away from the thought. "But he–"  
  
"Later, kid," Tony stresses, his voice further away. "Friday, kill the lights."  
  
The lights dim. "Yes, Boss."  
  
"Tony?"  
  
The creaking of the door comes to a halt. "Yeah?"  
  
Harley tries to breathe through the sudden tightness in his chest, even as sleep claws at him. "You're not...absolutely terrible at his."  
  
He's pulled under before he gets the chance to hear Tony's reply.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think? Any thoughts for the next chapter? This story arc is almost closing up--anything I need to discuss? Let me know!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. In which Tony Contemplates First-Degree Murder (And Harley Makes (Two) New Friends)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Worried?" Harley drawls, but it feels forced this time. He looks down at his boots briefly then up again. "Actually, I–I needed somewhere to clear my head and this seemed like the best place."
> 
> "Didn't you–Isn't this the same building you fell off of?"
> 
> "I'm a weird guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write and I don't know why. Lots of stuff got deleted and rewritten. I got tired of proofreading and editing so I hope you all enjoy!!!!!!
> 
> (Disclaimer: References to child abuse and abuse in general. Nothing too graphic or in detail.)

It may come as a surprise (to absolutely no one at all), that Tony Stark has a body count. It comes with the territory of inheriting a multi-billion dollar weapons-building company from a dad who used to supply a clandestine government agency. With being the Merchant of Death. That being said, he doesn't enjoy killing.  
  
Far from it, in fact, each death weighs like a ton of palladium on his conscious. Which, now that he's taking the time to think about it, is maybe why he never took his role as CEO all that seriously before. Why he sold weapons of mass destruction in one breath, then bounced off to the next party, the next rave, the next high. Anything to avoid the inevitable fallout waiting for him in the news when estimated casualty numbers began to roll in and guilt began to sink its insidious claws into him.  
  
If Tony's heard it once, he's heard it a million times:  
  
A competitor's snide comments. _"Stark's as heartless as his machines."_  
  
J. Jonah Jameson scoffs from his billboard, shaking his head. _"What do you know? Another capitalist profiting off of human suffering."_  
  
A news reporter screaming to be heard among the flashing bulbs and accusatory cries after it's found out that one of his missiles--_his_\--targeted a small town of civilians. _"Do you even care?! About the bodies you leave behind?! About human _decency_?!"_  
  
(And the one that led to the beginning of the end after a Stark Industries exhibit: _"You killed my son in Sokovia. You took him from me."_)  
  
Tony isn't a soldier like he-who-should-never-be-named, thank you very much. He can't jog away what eats at him or speak with fellow veterans. Nor is he a secret agent or assassin, like Robin Hood or Nat; didn't have S.H.I.E.L.D-authorized psychologists lining up at his door to make sure he didn't snap or people who could sympathize with doing a great deal of wrong for the greater good.  
  
What he had was better, if not perfect: patient Pepper, loyal Rhodey, perpetually put out Happy, sweet Peter, and snarky Harley. They didn't keep the darkness completely at bay, but they certainly provided the incentive to try every day to be the man they saw when the looked at him.  
  
Now though...One very illegal background check into one Steven "Skip" Wescott, boyfriend of Lannie Keener, and Tony is sorely tempted to throw all his enlightening life lessons out the window and just have the man thrown off a bridge or something.  
  
How the guy stayed out of prison before Tony took a vested interest in him is an absolute mystery to the inventor. For one thing, he's wanted for several cases of tax evasion from the IRS. For another, several states have warrants for his arrest from everything ranging from aggravated assault to grand larceny.  
  
It wouldn't take long to put in a few calls to the local and federal law enforcement and have someone down there by the end of the day, but something keeps Tony from reaching for the phone.  
  
Something dark and dangerous and everything he promised himself he wouldn't give into, but looked pretty good right about now.  
  
"I'm such an idiot." He says, more to himself than anything but of course the microphones pick it up.  
  
"Tony." Rhodey begins, already placating.  
  
Tony ignores him, pacing back and forth the same way he'd been doing for the past hour or so. He's going to need a new carpet soon with the tread he's wearing into it. "No, it's true. I should've noticed something was wrong."  
  
"That's not true." Pepper insists, the blue sheen of the hologram turning her strawberry-blond hair pale. "You couldn't have known."  
  
The two of them float above the desk in his office, taking a break from their respective schedules to speak with him. He wishes they were here with him, but Pepper's busy performing damage control at the board meeting he ditched in Taiwan, and Rhodey is off somewhere discussing something he deemed too classified to tell Tony.  
  
"Pepper's right." Rhodey agrees. "Things like this–Sometimes it's easy to miss the signs, _especially_ if he's been hiding them from you the entire time."  
  
They mean well, they do, but Tony's busy wallowing in whatever this pit in his stomach means.  
  
(_Guilt_, a snarky voice labels it,_ heart-rending guilt_.)  
  
Hindsight really is 20/20, because it's all so painfully clear now: Harley acting out in school when he's always been (sort of) well-behaved, the bruises he always had an answer for, and the easy way he deflected questions about his home life whenever it was brought up. Tony _should've_ seen it, _should've_ done better.

Pepper asks the one-million-dollar question and the one Tony's been afraid of answering."What are you going to do?"   
  
"I don't know." He admits, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't."  
  
"Well, what does Harley want?" Rhodey tries. "We should try to give him as much say as possible."  
  
Tony sighs heavily and leans against his desk. "Yeah, that would be nice, _except_ for the fact that he's been avoiding me since he woke up this morning."  
  
Pepper frowns concernedly. "Is he okay? How's he doing?"  
  
"He slept through the whole day yesterday, ate a little bit this morning then: poof." He mimics a small explosion with his hands. "Nowhere in sight. I've got a tracker on his phone, he's somewhere in the house, but...I don't want him to feel cornered or pressured into talking to me. Maybe he needs the space..." He trails off hopelessly.  
  
"Have you tried a therapist?" Rhodey suggests gently, chin propped up on his clasped hands.  
  
Tony snorts wryly. "Have you _met_ Harley? He'll clam up faster than you say trust issues. No way."  
  
"Well, what about his family?" Pepper asks. "Is there anyone that can or should be notified...?"  
  
"Nope." He pops the _p_. "His dad's been MIA since forever, his sister's in this boarding school up in Colorado, and his mom's...not always _there_."  
  
He hesitates before broaching the idea that's been piecing itself together in his head since he saw Harley's broken arm and hooded gaze. "Why don't–and I'm just spitballing here–why don't _I_ take him in?"  
  
Silence. Pepper and Rhodey glance at each other, neither bothering to hide the disbelief and reluctance in their expression.  
  
Tony pushes through. "Hear me out: he's just turned seventeen. Another year and he's a high school senior going on to college. It's not like it's a full-time thing. Just until we find a more permanent solution."  
  
Pepper's already shaking her head. "Tony, it's–it's not like you're babysitting a cat or _dog–_Harley's a _person_. I just don't think–"  
  
His muscles stiffen against the sudden cold that washes over him. "You guys don't think I can do it. Do you?"  
  
"Tony, we're not saying that–"  
  
"_Right_," He laughs bitterly, crossing his arms. "I'm just incapable of raising anything with a pulse, right? Even myself."  
  
"Just listen to us, _please_," Rhodey pleads, then sighs heavily. "You're... easily distracted Tony. And don't get me wrong, you do _wonderful_ with Peter, but Harley's a whole other ballgame. You're more of a friend than a parent when it comes to him."  
  
And _that_ raises all sorts of complicated feelings he has about Peter that he is in no way, shape, or form ready to deal with now so he changes the subject. "My lawyers can work something out; guys, his mom's in rehab for the fourth time this _year_. She's barely there when she is home. He needs stability."  
  
Pepper still looks wary when she asks, "And you can give him that?"  
  
Tony amends. "I can give him my best _version_ of that."  
  
Rhodey and Pepper exchange another look between them and moments like these, Tony hates them just as much as he loves them.  
  
"Trust me." He pleads. "I can do this." He doesn't need their permission, not really, but it sure would make him feel a hell of a lot better about this decision if they agreed.  
  
"I–Okay." Pepper gives a small smile. "I trust you."  
  
"Thank you." That's one hurdle jumped. "Rhodey?"  
  
"As long as Harley agrees, I guess I don't see the problem." Rhodey shrugs. "A familiar face might do him good after all he's been through."  
  
The conversation fizzles out after, something coming up on Rhodey's end that he can no longer ignore. He gives his goodbyes and Tony promises to send his reassurances to Harley before his screen blinks out and Pepper's is enlarged.  
  
"There's more, isn't there?" Pepper asks, peering at him thoughtfully.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." He pretends to look interested in his watch. "Isn't there a meeting you're late for or whatever? I swear, it felt like those things were scheduled back to back."  
  
Pepper raised an elegant eyebrow. "They were. On the off chance that you would actually attend something on time if I didn't give you the chance to be distracted."  
  
"_Ah_. That makes sense."  
  
Pepper smirks briefly before it falters. "What are you going to do to him, Tony? To the man who hurt Harley?"  
  
Tony glances somewhere to the left of her shoulder. "What do you think?"  
  
She stays silent, blue eyes searching his face for something, and a small part of him wonders how she's come to know him so well, marvels at how it's almost second-nature regardless of where they are in their relationship. (Which is, ironically, non-existent at the moment. They're on a break. _Again._)  
  
"You're not a bad guy, Tony." Pepper finally says, leaning back in her chair. "Don't let him make you one. He's not worth it."  
  
"But _Harley_–"  
  
"–shouldn't have that on his conscious. If he finds out—and you and I both know he will, he's a smart boy—he'll blame himself for it. Don't do that to him."  
  
"Well, when you put it like that..." He trails off, propping his chin in his hand as he peers at her and sighs. "I miss you." He admits.  
  
Pepper's resulting smile is a little sad, and Tony wonders if there'll ever be a time when they can just _be_ together without any of the complications that usually keep them apart. (He ignores the part of him that says he's nothing _but_ complicated.)  
  
"I do too." She glances down at her watch and grimaces. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"  
  
"Bye." The screen closes out, and Tony is left alone with his thoughts for one painfully silent moment.  
  
Then, "Friday, we have some calls to make."

***~***

Harley's almost _embarrassed_ by the amount of time it takes to locate the tracker in the back of his StarkPhone and plant it on one of the cleaning bots in the garage.  
  
Either he's losing his touch, or Tony's actually gotten better at embedding those little suckers. In his defense, his head's been in a weird place since...well, awhile now.  
  
He absently scrolls through the notifications on his phone, noting several unopened voicemails from Peter, some texts from Tony that remind him that Friday's there if he needs anything, and a couple of snaps Abby sent him last night.  
  
When his ringtone suddenly blares and Tony's Caller ID—_Mechanic—_pops up, Harley just barely resists the urge to throw it off the roof. He sends it to voicemail, instead.  
  
He feels bad for avoiding Tony, he does, but waking up after very nearly breaking down had been nothing short of mortifying. Quite frankly, he thinks it's commendable that he isn't on the next bus out of New York. (That, and he's_ 90%_ sure that Tony has him on a no-fly list somewhere, or whatever the equivalent of bus transportation is.)  
  
With a groan, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the access door of one of the many buildings in New York with concerningly lax security. In no way should it be this easy for a teenager—albeit a genius one—to gain rooftop access to the same building he visited not several weeks ago. All that's missing now is Spider-Man.  
  
"Hey, you're back!"  
  
Speak of the devil.  
  
His eyes snap open time to see Queen's resident superhero perch on the ledge, clad in his signature blue-and-red suit alongside white-and-black eye lenses that are almost comically widened.  
  
"That's weird." He murmurs, pushing himself up with his slingless arm.  
  
"What is?" So, he heard that; Super-senses noted.  
  
"Nothing." Harley deflects, inching forward. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I live here." Spider-Man tilts his head. "And _you_, if I'm remembering correctly, don't."  
  
"Point taken," He concedes. "I'm impressed you remembered."  
  
"It's like I said last time: photographic memory." Spider-Man shrugs. "I don't forget a face."  
  
"That, or you've thought of nothing but me since the day we met," Harley smirks.  
  
Somehow he gets the sense that Spider-Man's rolling his eyes behind his mask and his grin widens.  
  
"You flatter yourself." The hero remarks dryly.  
  
"Somebody's got to."  
  
"What are you doing up here?" Spider-Man steers the conversation back on track. "You're not going to try a repeat of last time are you?"  
  
"Worried?" Harley drawls, but it feels forced this time. He looks down at his boots briefly then up again. "Actually, I–I needed somewhere to clear my head and this seemed like the best place."  
  
"Didn't you–Isn't this the _same_ building you fell off of?"  
  
"I'm a weird guy."  
  
"I'd say." Spider-Man shakes his head, but it's _fond_? Can a head shake be fond?  
  
"I'm avoiding someone." He finally admits.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Harley shrugs then lifts his sling. "Don't you wanna know what happened to my arm?"  
  
Spider-Man's lenses contract several times and Harley can tell he's taken him off guard.  
  
He stammers. "I–You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."  
  
"You're not curious?"  
  
"Well, yes, but it's none of my business." The hero crosses his arms, sitting fully on the ledge now, and giving off a feeling of distinct "uncomfortableness."  
  
Harley raises an eyebrow and briefly considers lying or dropping the subject altogether when his mouth makes the decision for him, "My aunt's boyfriend punched me and I fell off the front porch."  
  
Spider-Man inhales sharply, lenses widening once more.  
  
He smiles weakly, trying to lessen the sting. "Stupid, right?"  
  
"I don't think so." Spider-Man breathes. "Have you told him? Or her?"  
  
Harley looks at him then looks back down, picking at the cast. "Who?"  
  
"Whomever you're avoiding?"  
  
"No." He pauses. "It's just–You told me last time that I was more than capable of solving my own problems. Remember?"  
  
Spider-Man's already shaking his head. "Of course. I didn't–I shouldn't have–"  
  
Harley ignores his ramblings. "And usually I am _very_ good at that. Bullies? Slash their tires. Annoying teachers? Hack their projectors. Rude principles? A potato-gun has never killed anyone. Broken a window or two, but never killed. Hell, most of the time I _am_ the problem."  
  
Spider-Man nods. "I get it. Kind of."  
  
Harley looks at him. "You do?"  
  
"Yeah, you know. But on a _less_ illegal level which is ironic considering I deal with literal criminals."  
  
Harley gives a small laugh. Way up here, the problems don't seem as all-encompassing and terrible. Which is maybe why he finds himself admitting, "I'm not used to a problem I can't solve by being me."  
  
Spider-Man stays quiet and Harley's kind of thankful for that because the more he speaks the more he can put this unspeakable dread in the pit of his stomach into words. "What if he, this _person_ I'm avoiding, thinks less of me because I let it get this far?"  
  
"Less?" Spider-Man repeats, sounding confused.  
  
"It's embarrassing. I don't want him treating me like I'm fragile or a _victim_ or–" Harley cuts off and scoffs at himself, wishing he could suddenly cram all the words back into his mouth. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this."  
  
"Probably because I have a very trustworthy face."  
  
Harley snorts, grateful for the lifeline. "You don't have a face."  
  
"I do underneath this mask, and I promise it's very trustworthy." Spider-Man replies. He seems to debate something for a moment before continuing, "He doesn't think of you like that. Whomever this person is."  
  
Harley wonders how he sounds so sure. "You can't possibly know that."  
  
"Maybe not," Spider-Man concedes, rising to his haunches, "But you never will either unless you talk to him. What's the worst that can happen?"  
  
"I could give you a list," Harley begins, watching as Spider-Man tilted his head to the side, almost like he was listening to someone. "But it looks like you have somewhere to be."  
  
Spider-Man grimaces. "Yeah, sorry about that. Crime never rests. I hope everything works out okay for you. Really."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"And get off this building before I call security. I'm serious." He waves his finger.  
  
"I'm going, I'm going." Harley rolls his eyes but turns around regardless.  
  
When he reaches the access door and looks back, he's all alone again.

  
***~***

  
"It might take some time to get it all approved, but at least with this, Mr. and Ms. Keener would become your temporary wards." Ana slides over the paperwork. "At least until their mother is in fit enough mind to either contest or agrees to your guardianship."  
  
Tony twirls his pen. "Anything else?"  
  
"There may be some resistance from the court and child protective services, as expected, but we can fight it." She smirks.  
  
He signs his name with a flourish. "I wouldn't have hired you if you couldn't."  
  
"With all due respect, Mr. Stark," She takes the paper from him and reads it over before handing it to her assistant. "Ms. Potts hired me."  
  
"Which makes you even better."  
  
"Hm." She acquiesces with a tiny hum. "Next, we'll have to set a court date. Ms. Keener can remain in Colorado as her brother can speak for her, but–"  
  
"Uh, Tony?" He looks up from the legal jargon in front of him to find Harley standing at the office door, his sling missing again, despite Dr. Cho's orders to keep it close. ("I'm not your personal doctor, Mr. Stark." "You could be.")  
  
The relief that floods Tony is surreal and at that moment he's _immensely_ grateful for the tinted lenses that cover his eyes. They make it easier to smile, to play it cool and not like a person on the brink of murder several hours ago.  
  
"Where've you been, kid? I almost put out an APB."  
  
"You, know. Around." His glances at Ana, simultaneously curious and suspicious.  
  
Tony clears his throat. "Hey, guys, why don't you go get lunch? We'll finish up later."  
  
Ana raises an eyebrow but nods, gathering her stuff into her briefcase and turning sharply on her heels. She pauses next to Harley to appraise him briefly. "Nice jacket, Mr. Keener."  
  
The door closes behind them with a click and Friday automatically frosts the glass.  
  
"Who were the suits?" Harley asks, inching forward. "The lady has good taste."  
  
"My lawyers." Tony looks him up and down, taking in wind-swept hair and ruddy cheeks. "Where were you? You doing okay?"  
  
"Yeah, just needed to take walk." Harley looks uncharacteristically nervous, pulling at his jacket collar. "Can we talk? About what happened?"  
  
Tony's heart jumps into his heart and he quickly swallows it down. "Yeah, of course." He gestures to the chairs in front of his desk and goes to get up from his own.  
  
Harley being Harley ignores them both and jumps onto his desk, combat boots swinging above the floor. Or not. Tony leans back in his chair and tries to exude a sense of calm and rationality, everything he does _not_ feel at the moment.  
  
"Don't interrupt me, okay?" Harley begins with a scowl. " I know how you are. Let me talk because after this I'm never bringing it up again, okay? And you aren't either."  
  
Tony raises a palm. "Scout's honor."  
  
"I–It wasn't bad at first. Skip was a jerk, yeah, but he didn't–" Harley clears his throat and Tony sits still for fear of spooking him. "Anyway, I showed him up in front of his boss once, like a couple months ago, and he got mad. I said something back to him, I don't remember what but knowing me it was bad, and then he slapped me."  
  
Tony's hand curls into a fist over the armrest.  
  
"It just kept going after that." Harley continues without inflection, staring fixedly at a point over Tony's shoulder. "And my aunt blamed me for it. She said I shouldn't provoke him or whatever." He shrugs. "Maybe she's right."  
  
He can't help himself. "Harley–"  
  
"You and I both know I'm not a saint, Tony." Harley scoffs a little, a bitter smile appearing. "Maybe if I had kept my mouth shut that one time, none of this would've happened. I wouldn't be sitting here feeling like the world's biggest idiot."  
  
"Hey, you don't know that." Tony insists, leaning forward. "And regardless, that doesn't give them an excuse. Don't convince yourself that what they did makes sense. It's doesn't."  
  
Harley frowns. "You promised not to interrupt."  
  
"You and I both know I was never a Boy Scout." Tony deadpans and Harley snorts. "What I _can_ promise, is that they'll never hurt you again."  
  
"Skip's a tool," Harley finally meets his gaze, blue eyes cold. "I don't care what happens to him. But my aunt...My aunt is the only person my mom has left of my dad. I don't want to be the reason she loses that."  
  
Tony frowns. "Harley, that's no reason–"  
  
"And," Harley interrupts him. "Sometimes I'm not the one he hits. Yeah, she's kind of a bitch, but she never _actually_ touched me. Whatever you do, keep her out of it. Please?"  
  
"I-" He sighs. "Fine. _Fine_. Whatever you say."  
  
The tension seeps out of Harley's shoulders and he smiles. "Thank you."  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
Harley kicks his knee, his usual fire returning. "Now, are you going to tell me what your lawyers wanted, or is this more Avengers business I'm not allowed to know about?"  
  
The subject change isn't the smoothest, but Tony acknowledges that this is Harley's way of putting the matter behind them, as temporary as it may be. For the time being, however, the air around them feels clearer. Tony scowls and makes a big show of brushing off the dirt on his slacks as Harley's smirk only grows.

"It's actually _your_ business. Well, _ours_." Harley raises an eyebrow in interest and Tony continues. "How would you like for me to be your guardian?"  
  
Harley's eyes widen. His legs stop moving.  
  
Tony hurries on before he can say anything. "It's temporary, only until your mom is out and we can discuss legal guardianship, but until then..."  
  
"What about Abby?"  
  
"I'll move her over, too, obviously."  
  
The answer comes without hesitation. "Then, yes. Sure."  
  
Tony blinks. Somehow he hadn't expected it to be that easy. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah." Harley peers cautiously at him. "If that's okay."  
  
The smile that spreads across his face feels ridiculously wide. "I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't."  
  
"Good. Cool." Harley's features school themselves into something that's probably meant to be cool, but his eyes sparkle relentlessly. "Wait, what about my stuff?"  
  
Tony waves the issue away. "I can buy you anything you need."  
  
Harley rolls his eyes. "Well, _yeah_, but what about my potato gun? Or my gadgets? The blueprints, at least. They're still at my aunt's."  
  
At the present moment, he _loathes_ the idea of sending Harley anywhere _near_ the state of Tennessee. He taps his fingers against the desk as he thinks then snaps them as an idea comes. "I'll tell you what: Happy can go get them. Problem solved. You, on the other hand, are staying here and getting some much-needed rest. Okay?"  
  
Harley nods. "Okay."  
  
"And when you're ready," He makes sure that Harley's meeting his gaze for the next part. "You're going to call Peter and apologize."  
  
"But, _Tony._" Harley groans.  
  
"No '_buts_' about it. I saw his face after you left. He looked like he was going to cry."  
  
Harley shrugs, but Tony can see the flicker of guilt that crosses his face.  
  
"He betrayed my trust." He sniffs.  
  
"I know. But he did the right thing. And he didn't tell me anything, not really."  
  
Harley shrugs again.  
  
"I'm not telling you to be buddy-buddy with him, but I need you to try okay?"  
  
"Fine." Harley slides off his table and stares him down for a moment. "_Fine_. When are your lawyers getting back?"

"In an hour, maybe." He raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I was working on a motor in the garage a couple of days ago. You wanna help me iron out the kinks?"

"You know I have an _actual_ job, right?" He asks, only partially joking.

"You can tell me all the many ways that New York is better than Tennessee." Harley offers, smiling winningly. Tony tosses his pen across the table.

"Well for starters, _I_ live here." He stands up. "Lead the way, kid."

  
***~***

  
The _last_ person Peter expects to see when he walks into the mansion kitchen nearly a week later with an invitation from Tony on his phone is Harley, sitting at the counter like he belongs there as much as the decor and tossing a familiar blue box between his hands. He already looks better, a far cry from the angry boy who stayed over with him and the lost soul he encountered on the rooftop as Spider-Man.  
  
"Um," Peter says, trying and failing to sound coherent in any sense.  
  
Harley looks up and grins, a light in eyes that Peter hasn't seen since the first time they met. "Hey, Parker. Nice to see you haven't mastered English, yet."  
  
"Hey," He replies hesitantly. "Where's Tony?"  
  
"Out of state for the time being," Harley slides the box over. "Here, I bought you these."  
  
Peter catches them before they slip off. Pop-Tarts. "You did?"  
  
"Yes. Well, no," Harley points at the ceiling. "Friday did. I'm the one who texted you from Tony's number. But that's not the point."  
  
"There's a point?" Peter sets the box back down.  
  
"There _is_ a point. Just...wait." Harley takes a deep breath, appearing to steel himself for something monumental. "I'm sorry."  
  
Peter blinks.  
  
"For everything." He continues, looking more properly contrite. "I don't like asking for help and I was a dick to you when you gave it to me. Or at least, more of a dick than usual."  
  
"Yeah." Peter agrees slowly, waiting for the punchline. "You kinda were."  
  
Harley grimaces. "There's no excuse for my behavior. I shouldn't have acted the way I did or treated you as horribly either. I hope you can forgive me. So there."  
  
For someone who claims he hates apologizing, he's not bad at it. Painfully uncomfortable? Yes. Bad? Not really. Peter looks at Harley, looking very put out and annoyed with his silence, and for a minute he catches a glimpse of the vulnerability he saw as Spider-Man.  
  
"Have I finally gotten you to hate me or...?" He asks warily, a hastily constructed front that Peter can see right through.  
  
"The jury's still out," Peter says, just to see Harley squirm a little before continuing. "But these are a surefire way to earn my friendship."  
  
"Noted." Harley tilts his head, drawing his gaze up-and-down Peter until he can't help but feel a little self-conscious.  
  
He tugs on his jacket strings. "What?"  
  
"Why don't we start over?" He pushes himself away from the counter and approaches him. Some part of Peter's brain takes note of the fact that Harley's a little taller than him, an inch or two. He sticks his hand out. "We're going to seeing more of each other and I don't want to spend my time here with a rival. Unless you want to be, in which case I _will_ crush you."  
  
"How about friends instead?" Peter suggests. "Less chance of us setting the mansion on fire."  
  
Harley grins and Peter gets the sense that that'll be the case regardless. "In that case, my name is Harley James Keener. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance."  
  
Peter raises an eyebrow at the formality as he takes his hand, feeling rough calluses slide against his own. They're oddly warm. "Peter Benjamin Parker. Nice to meet you."  
  
Harley’s smile is unburdened and genuine and Peter can't help but return it. He wants to see what happens next.

**End of Arc I**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Any loose ends to tie up? Let me know!!


	9. In Which There is an Interlude That Doesn't Quite Make Sense (Yet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes to see Harley's Aunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my shortest chapter yet, but the next should be much longer and posted in the next couple of days.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

When he gets the chance, Tony books it for Rose Hill, Tennessee.  
  
He made Harley a promise, after all. Of course, that doesn't mean he has to be happy with having people and goats alike gawk at his Audi as Happy peels down the road.  
  
He hates it almost as much as the first time he crash-landed here. Maybe even more so considering what Harley had been going through.  
  
"Are you the reason Skip's in jail?"  
  
Lannie Keener is not what Tony's expecting. With reddish-brown hair and blue eyes rimmed in dark eyeliner, Tony's struggling to find the resemblance to Harley who tends to look like a wayward prince and mad scientist had a love-child together. She has a coat wrapped around her tightly, acrylic nails grasping at the collar as she watches him from the living room.  
  
It's fucking freezing in her house, and Tony idly wonders if she keeps it like this to keep her heart frozen solid.  
  
"I'm not exactly law enforcement, Ms. Keener." He replies, careful to keep his voice even. Somewhere down the hall, Happy grumbles to himself as he collects all the things Harley wrote down on his list.  
  
She doesn't budge. "But you had something to do with it, didn't you?"  
  
"Your nephew's doing okay" Tony deflects, unwilling to stand the silence. "Just in case you were wondering."  
  
"I wasn't." She snarls, and _wow_. "Skip?"  
  
"Is serving prison for a very long time. Longer, if I can help it." He can't help the cruel smile that his lips twist into. "You're welcome."  
  
Her ruddy face blanches.  
  
Tony promised himself he would exercise self-restraint. He also promised himself he would stay in the car and start eating more healthy, so fuck resolutions. "I'm sorry, it's just--You know what I don't get?"  
  
"What?" She snaps.  
  
"You." He shakes his head, utterly bewildered underneath the anger that boils in his chest. "I mean, you were dealing with your own stuff, sure, but how could you let him do that to him? To a _kid_? Harley's your brother's son, your nephew, for godsakes."  
  
"Harley?" Lannie scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Harley isn't my nephew."  
  
"What?" Tony stares at her. "You're kidding, right?"  
  
She meets his gaze head-on, one eyebrow raised as if daring him to contradict her. "Adam left them. Hasn't spoken a word to them in nearly a decade. Or me, for that matter after he won that stupid lotto."  
  
Lannie's eyes sharpen into ice. "Harley was lucky that I took him. Lucky that I didn't have him shipped off to whatever hellhole the state had waiting for him while his mother dug herself out of the bottle again. I told him the rules. It isn't my fault that people like you teach him it's okay to break them. Everything has consequences. Skip just liked to remind us of that."  
  
"By breaking his fucking arm?" Tony growls.  
  
Something pained flickers across Lannie's face before hardening once more. "I told him not to fight back. I told him. Harley never listens, this is his own goddamn fault!"  
  
When Happy finally comes out, Harley's stuff in a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder, Tony and Lannie stand on opposite sides of the room, a silence so thick between them you couldn't cut it with a knife.  
  
"Boss?" He asks, looking between the two warily.  
  
"You're never seeing him again. Either of them." He spits into the quiet, darkly relishing her flinch and quick step back. Unable to stomach any more pleasantries as he pushes past the screen door. "Let's go."  
  
In the car, he sees Lannie reflected in the rearview mirror, leaning against the front gate and watching them drive further and further away.


	10. In Which Harley Conquers Midtown (Again) and Meets MJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Necessary? No. Absolutely vital. Yes. I'm sorry, but have you heard the way you talk about him? If this was a bad fanfiction, the two of you would totally be hate-banging right now."
> 
> Harley, who had been in the process of gargling Listerine very nearly chokes on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my a** and I don't even know why. It just did not want to work with me, but I've FINALLY done it. 
> 
> (ノ^_^)ノ💖
> 
> I hope you enjoy the beginning of Arc II!
> 
> (#BLM ✊🏾✊🏿✊🏽✊🏼✊🏻)

The next month and a half goes by in a series of Moments™.  
  
Life-changing, paradigm-altering Moments ™ that Harley feels the need to capitalize because a lower case '_m_' just doesn't do it justice.  
  
There was a lot, but he'll narrow it down to three.  
  
**I. The Court Moment**  
  
This past month has been nothing but a whirlwind of court dates, legal meetings, and getting his new life in New York in order, all the while keeping the paps from catching a whiff of Tony Stark taking in some random kid from Tennessee.  
  
It's not that Harley hates it...He just loathes it with all his soul and being.  
  
Thus, he was immensely relieved when the last and final court session to approve Tony's custody arrived on the wings of last week.  
  
If he thinks back, he can still remember the nerves that had ransacked him that afternoon. He can remember tugging and pulling at his tie to no avail until Tony, who had been engrossed in something on his phone, somehow noticed and spoke out.  
  
"Stop it." He had said, neither his gaze nor hands faltering.  
  
Harley groaned in reply. "I'm dying."  
  
"You're fine. Stop being a drama queen."  
  
Harley had resented that statement (still did, in fact) and made his discontent known by pulling even harder. "I don't see why _I_ have to wear a stupid suit. _You're_ the one trying to look like a responsible adult. Not me."  
  
Tony raised an eyebrow. "It's proper etiquette."  
  
"What do you know about court etiquette?" Harley grumbled. "The last time you were subpoenaed you basically flipped off a senator."  
  
"Um, first of all, you're _way_ too young to remember that. Second, he flipped me off, thank you very much." Harley dug his finger into the collar. "And third, there is no third. Stop."  
  
Harley tugged pointedly at his tie, only half-joking, and Tony reached over as if to slap his hand away before suddenly freezing, a panicked expression crossing his face. He drew back awkwardly, coughing into his fist.  
  
The playful mood fell away fast, replaced by something heavy and weird, and here was the _other_ reason Harley hated court dates: Tony being weird.  
  
He finally let go of his tie and slouched against the door, peering out the glass as he took in the ebb and flow of traffic across the lanes.  
  
"Ok. Lay it on me." There was the audible click of his phone shutting off, and Harley had to commend Tony for being the one to speak first. "What's up?"  
  
_Besides you?_ "Nothing."  
  
"C'mon, you're doing that thing where you're all world-weary and whatever. Spill."  
  
Harley rolled his eyes but reluctantly gave voice to the thoughts that had been plaguing him since lunch, "What if they say no?"  
  
"They won't." Tony dismissed immediately, a casual wave of his hand. He sounded so confident. Harley wished he could be too.  
  
"But if they do?" Harley reiterated.  
  
"They won't." The mechanic gestured to himself. "I'm Tony Stark, kid. I'd find a way."  
  
"But I'm _not_ Tony Stark." Harley had snapped, his patience wearing thin. "I'm Harley Keener. Troublemaking, random-ass kid from Tennessee Harley Keener."  
  
What if they decide to throw the case out? Or _worse_, they hold it in limbo so that I'm forced to live in some state-funded home or a boarding school for troubled boys? _What if–_" Here he forced his voice not to crack. "What if they send me back to my aunt?"  
  
Tony regarded him thoughtfully over the rim of his glasses, eyes piercing. "You've thought a lot about this, huh?"  
  
"I really, _really_ have." The words made him want to throw himself out of the window, flight-or-fight responses kicking in with a vengeance. "I also might've stayed up on Reddit all night reading horror stories from law school."  
  
"That's–Okay, whatever." Tony shook his head as if to dismiss that matter. "The point is: we're going to make this happen. It's as simple as that. Nothing is going to change except for the fact you're going to be living with New York's most eligible bachelor. You know, in a non-creepy way."  
  
"Thanks for the clarification." Harley had snorted, grateful for the inserted levity. "And _bachelor_? Don't let Pepper hear that."  
  
"It's true. It's a factual statement. She's never had a problem with the truth before. Loves it, in fact." The phone came back on.  
  
"So I can tell her you said that?"  
  
"No. And fix your tie, we're here."  
  
  
**II. The Peter Moment**  
  
Now, Harley and Peter's relationship has been on the rocks since the day they met. Mostly on account of Harley being an ass and, well, Harley being an ass. He's big enough that he can admit it.  
  
And then there's also that _little_ issue with him and Peter fighting over Tony's affection which, when it comes down to it, is most likely where all their problems lie.  
  
He isn't so naive to think that some spur-of-the-moment reintroduction and a box of pop tarts can fix anything between them, but somehow...  
  
It's strange how it happens.  
  
Harley's sprawled upside down on the loveseat in the living room one day when he hears the front door open and close, not bothering to lift his head from where he lay as he continues to stare at the screen in front of him.  
  
He waits until he hears footsteps and then calls out, "Hey, Tony. Pepper called. She said to stop hanging up on the Governor when he calls. He's starting to bug her about it."  
  
"I-I'm not Mr. Stark."  
  
Harley blinks several times, checks the time and date on his PS4, then scrambles into an upright position. Sure enough, Peter loiters on the steps of the living room, backpack slung over his shoulder while clad in a god-awful chemistry pun t-shirt and jacket.  
  
"I can see that, Parker. Hi. What are you doing here?" He hopes he doesn't come off as accusing as he sounds in his head because he's trying, really. "Not that it matters or anything but Tony's not..."  
  
"I actually come here after school sometimes to work and stuff." Peter looks at him then looks away, something in his laces drawing his attention. "Is that okay?"  
  
"Um, yeah. You're his intern. It's not exactly up to me."  
  
Peter frowns and rubs his arm. "But you live here now. I don't want to intrude or make you uncomfortable or anything. That'd be rude."

...And that's _new_.

Harley's never really had anyone care about that before. With the exception of Abbie, of course, usually, _he's_ the one intruding on the space of others. The fact that he has his _own_ space now and that Parker cares... 

Harley stares until Peter's face turns a slight shade of pink.  
  
"_What?_" He finally squeaks.  
  
"Nothing." Harley shakes his head with a small laugh. He feels ridiculously happy. "You're one of kind, is all."  
  
"Is that a good or bad thing?"  
  
"Decision pending." He tosses his controller aside. "What do you normally do when you're here?"  
  
Peter looks surprised that he's interested but moves down the steps into the living room, his nerves visibly calming. "I usually go to the lab and work on my homework or whatever Mr. Stark's left for me. Have you ever been?"  
  
"The lab?" Harley snorts. "You do not want me near a bunch of chemicals, Parker. Neither does Tony."  
  
Peter smirks at that, the humor of the comment warming the silence between them.  
  
"I thought you were a genius."  
  
"_Mechanical_ genius," Harley stresses. "I mean, yeah I know which chemicals blow up when they're mixed and which don't, but that's the extent of my expertise."  
  
"It's better than most." Peter grins, crossing his arms. "Also, here's a thought, why don't you just _ask_, or better yet, _read_ the label to find out what's explosive or not."  
  
"_Mechanical_. _Genius_," Harley repeats, absently pushing a lock of blonde hair back. "Soft sciences like chemistry and biology are not my thing."  
  
"So I'm soft now?"  
  
"_Wha–!?_" Harley splutters, face warming. God, he's terrible at this, even when he's _actually_ trying. "That's not what I meant, I just–!"  
  
He falters when he catches the glint of mischief in Peter's eyes, his mortification turning to annoyance and grudging admiration. "I change my mind. You're the softest of them all. And annoying."  
  
"Sorry, I couldn't resist." Peter gives him one last smile and gestures behind him. "Well, I'll just–"  
  
That was..._surprisingly_ easy. Peter could leave and this conversation could end, and Tony would _still_ be happy but...damnit he wanted to do _better_ than that. _Be_ better than that.  
  
Harley makes a split-second decision. "Why don't you show me around? The lab, that is."  
  
Peter stills and turns back around, his expression screwed into something wary. "Really?"  
  
"I mean, it's only fair. You've seen me in my natural element, I should get to see you in yours."  
  
He raises an eyebrow. "Even if it's really boring?"  
  
"I'll set something on fire if it gets to that point." Harley gets up, kicking his sneakers back on. "If that's okay with you or whatever. I don't want to intrude on your space either."  
  
Peter shrugs, but his smile is radiant. "No, that'd be–that'd be cool."  
  
"Great. Let's see what you and Tony geek out over when I'm hanging out with Friday."  
  
  
**III. The Abbie Moment (present-day)**  
  
Harley has made lots of questionable decisions in his young, ever persisting life.  
  
Some that turned out good and others...not so much.  
  
From making Principal Anderson's car radio blast "Teenage Dream" at all times of the school day, to the misguided attempt to find his dad during freshman year, and to even more recent ones, like staying up late on Netflix after Tony told him to go to bed. (He has a feeling it's going to hit him a _lot_ harder later on when he's not so hopped up on nerves and excitement.)  
  
The _worst_, however? The worst possible decision he's _ever_ made in his _entire_ life has to go to answering Abbie's phone call this morning.  
  
"I haven't heard anything from you in the past five minutes. Either you've finally spontaneously combusted from pure stupidity as I've always predicted, or you're doing your hair."  
  
The absolute worst.  
  
"Shut up, Abbie." Harley scowls as he runs his fingers through his hair one last time. Perfecting and maintaining the devil-may-care wind-swept look he's known for is an art form that his younger sister will never truly be able to appreciate.  
  
"My, we're _cranky_ this morning, aren't we?" She drawls, and Harley can see her in his mind's eye, rolling her eyes and smiling that infuriatingly endearing smile.  
  
"Don't you have somewhere to be? Or do? Why aren't you in class?" He complains as he flicks a lock off his forehead. "Don't they start ridiculously early there?"  
  
"7:00 AM is not ridiculously early, it's perfectly normal, and today's field day." She replies. "That aside, I'm not letting you start your first day at a new school looking like a hillbilly. As your sister, it's my sacred duty. Now, what's your OOTD?"  
  
"I _beg_ your pardon?"  
  
"Outfit of the Day?" She sounds physically pained to be related to him at that moment. "Nevermind."  
  
"I don't see why–"  
  
"No, _wait_! Let me guess: distressed jeans, that _god-awful_ Led Zeppelin shirt, those hideous combat boots you love for some weird reason, and I'm sensing...Dad's jacket."  
  
Harley looks at the mirror and frowns.  
  
"So am I right or am I right?" Abbie asks smugly.  
  
"You're annoying is what." He looks down at his boots. They weren't ugly. She was ugly.  
  
"You love me."  
  
"Ha. You wish."  
  
Some small, _tiny-weeny_ part of Harley that he refuses to _ever_ let see the light of day lest he die of embarrassment reminds him that he actually _craves_ this. His sister's presence, that is, distant it may be at the moment. At any given point in his life, she's been his only real constant.  
  
"So, how's Peter?" Abbie calls him back to the present, pulling him out of his head as he finally gets that perfect wave in his hair.  
  
Harley sets the comb down and admires his reflection. "Good. Cool. We're...good. I think we're becoming friends."

"Good? Cool?"  
  
He fears for his sister's hearing. "That's what I just said, Abs."  
  
"_Friends!?_" Abbie's voice raises incredulously. "I'm sorry, are we talking about _Peter Benjamin Parker_!? Your sworn Nemesis? The Tybalt to your Romeo, the Darth Vader to your Luke, the Kyolo Ren to your Rey, the Sam-I-am to your... who's the guy who wouldn't eat the green eggs and ham?"  
  
Harley rolls his eyes and grabs the mouthwash off the sink. "Are two Star Wars references _really_ necessary?"  
  
"Necessary? No. Absolutely vital? _Yes_. I'm sorry, but have you _heard_ the way you talk about him? If this was a bad fanfiction, the two of you would _totally_ be hate-banging right now."  
  
Harley, who had been in the process of gargling Listerine very nearly chokes on it.  
  
"_Abbie!_" He splutters.  
  
"What?" She giggles. "Really though. Joking, aside. I'm happy for you."  
  
"Really?" He asks dryly as he wipes his mouth clean.  
  
"Well, yeah! You have friends. Or _a_ friend. You never really had those before."  
  
"Shut up, I have loads of friends."  
  
"Who? And Gabby the Goat doesn't count because you need at least three brain cells to be considered human. And you know, be _actually_ human."  
  
He rolls his eyes and wonders what Abby would think of Spider-Man, then. Harley's like 80% sure he's human. Maybe 85%.  
  
(He doesn't even know if they're friends, really—it's not like it's an everyday thing. Harley can't exactly be climbing to the top of abandoned or not-so-abandoned skyscrapers just for a glimpse of the hero, and he's sure that Spider-Man is busy doing whatever it is superheroes do when they're not keeping people safe.  
  
But he does look forward to the moments when their schedules line up: Harley on another random building and Spider-Man swinging by.  
  
Their conversations are short, not as long as the first two, but Harley learns a little more about him with each meeting.  
  
"I've never told you my name before."  
  
"You don't have too."  
  
"It's Harley. Your turn."  
  
The lenses contract into a squint. "Did you think that would work?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
A sigh. "Get down before I call security, please."  
  
_Or_:  
  
"You have an AI in your suit, right? That's who you're listening too."  
  
A pause. "That's classified."  
  
"By who?"  
  
"Me."  
  
Well, that's a lie, but Harley ignores it in favor of another line of questioning. "Are you working with someone? Do you have a benefactor? Besides Tony Stark, I mean?"  
  
Spider-Man stiffens, lenses contracting and expanding before clearing his throat. "I don't–_What!?_ I don't work with Iron Man."  
  
"That's a lie."  
  
"Is_ not!_"  
  
"Is too." He smirks, happy to see the hero as close to ruffled as he's ever seen him. "You're acting like a child. Hey, how _old_ are you, by the way? I don't want this to be any weirder than it has to be and it'd be _definitely_ weird if you were like a 40-year-old man dressing up in spandex to talk to me."  
  
"I'm not–I'm like _college_ age, not that you need to know that, but–" Spider-Man's reply is cut short when something catches his attention, confirming Harley's AI theory. "I have to go, but _is not_!"  
  
Harley watches him flip off the building and swing away. "Is too.")  
  
His phone alarm beeps, causing the memory to fall away, and Harley checks the time, swearing. "I'm going to be late–"  
  
"Hey, before you go," Abbie affects a painfully casual tone. The one she uses when she knows whatever she's about to say is going to piss him off. "I maybe kind of sent a letter to Mom."  
  
"_Abbie!_" He groans, haphazardly pushing his bedsheets into place. "We've _talked_ about this. I thought we agreed not to this time."  
  
"No, _you_ spoke and _I_ pretended to listen. It's a common arrangement." There's a tightness in her voice that betrays her real emotions.  
  
"Abbie–"  
  
"–Look, just because _you've_ decided to ignore her, doesn't mean I have to too." She snaps.  
  
Harley rubs his face hard. "Can we _not_ fight about this now? I need to go."  
  
"..."  
  
"Abbie?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
He hates that he's upset her, and he's starting to think that's a constant too, upsetting the people he cares about most. "Love you."  
  
She sighs, no doubt rolling her eyes. "Love you too. Have a good day at school, sweetie."  
  
He grins, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "I take that back. I hate you."  
  
"No, you." She hangs up on him first and he shakes head as he runs down the stairs, pushing his phone into his back pocket as he enters the kitchen.  
  
He grabs a donut from the box on the counter at the same time Tony walks in, twirling a pair of car keys around his fingers.  
  
Harley reaches for it and Tony darts away. "Run the story by me again."  
  
"Tony." He's done it a million times at this point.  
  
Tony dodges his next lunge. "_Bububu_–No keys until you run it back. Go."  
  
He rolls his eyes but acquiesces. "I'm Harley James Keener. Last time I visited, I was checking out schools where my godfather lived. Now, I'm here."  
  
"_And_...?" Tony prompts.  
  
"And..." Harley narrows his eyes. "I'm being held captive by a man-child in the disguise of a genius billionaire. Help me."  
  
"_Err_." Tony bleeps. "Wrong."  
  
Harley rolls his eyes, reaching for the keys again. "Shut up."  
  
"You first, squid."  
  
It's how they've always been: being assholes to each other for the fun of it and Harley's _beyond_ relieved that Tony's a far cry from how he was before; awkward and unnaturally compliant with any and all his requests until something finally snapped when Harley ordered three tons of lead.  
  
("Ok." Tony leaned against his bedframe. "What do you need three tons of lead for?"  
  
Harley blinked. "Friday!"  
  
"Kid."  
  
"I thought you didn't care."  
  
Tony frowned. "Says who? If you're going to stay here–"  
  
Harley interrupted. "You promised nothing would change."  
  
"It hasn't."  
  
"_You_ have." He scowled down at his blueprints, a rough redrawing of his potato gun. "You're..._weird_ with me. We don't joke as much as you used to, you treat me like I'm made of _glass_, and you let me stay up in the garage all night. You used to _hate_ that."  
  
"Kid." Tony began.  
  
Harley sighed and flopped back down on his bed. "I just want things to get back to normal."  
  
Silence, and just as Harley was beginning to think he'd stuck his foot in his mouth–  
  
"You want normal. Fine. Friday, shut it all off."  
  
His StarkPad went dark at the same time his controller died and the TV in his room switched to the screensaver.  
  
He scrambled up. "_Hey!_"  
  
"Go to sleep." Tony collected the controller and StarkPad, setting it on his desk. "We have a meeting with Ana tomorrow morning. Now go!"  
  
"Now? Really? You're doing this now? At least give me an adjustment period."  
  
"Nope," Tony smirked. "Go. To. Sleep. And I'm canceling that order for lead. With my luck, you're going to poison yourself with it.")

"I'm going to be late for school." Harley reminds him when Tony manages to evades him for the fifth time. He might have to start re-thinking all his 'old man' jokes. "And it'll be all your fault when I inevitably become a teenage delinquent."  
  
"Doubtful, considering you already _are_ one." Tony snorts but tosses him the keys regardless. "And those donuts are a one-time thing. Seriously, what happened to good-ole' glaze. It looks like a rainbow threw up in this box." He looks disgusted.  
  
"Bye, Tony." Harley grabs another donut and makes his way to the elevator for the garage.  
  
"Stay out of trouble."  
  
"No promises."

* * *

Peter and Ned are waiting at the curb to meet him when he walks out of his car, Midtown glowing promisingly in the background as students mill around before the first bell.  
  
"It's so cool you're coming here," Ned gushes as he approaches. "Are you nervous? It's okay if you are."  
  
"I'm not nervous," Harley replies easily, and it's the truth. “I’m right where I want to be. What’s there to be nervous about?”  
  
“New school. New people. Tons of homework to catch up on,” Ned rattles off. "I'm like 80% sure that Peter threw up on his first day."  
  
"_Ned_!" Peter hisses, punching him in the arm. "I told you that in confidence!"  
  
"Oops." Ned chuckles sheepishly. "Sorry."  
  
Peter rolls his eyes, albeit fondly. "What Ned is _trying_ and _failing_ to say is that we're here to help if you need it."  
  
"Which I won't, but it's the thought that counts." Harley grins, shameless, and Peter only scoffs, pushing the door open for them. "Guys. Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be fine.”  
  
There are a few curious eyes and shy waves here and there, those who remember him from several months ago, as Harley makes his way to Mr. Morita's office.  
  
The principal hands him a cream-yellow schedule in a gesture that parallels the first time they did this. "I'm aware of the terms of your enrollment, Mr. Keener."  
  
He looks up in surprise.  
  
"Rest assured, our students' safety and privacy are our highest priority here."  
  
"Thanks," Harley says slowly, looking back down. He scans the sheet and frowns. "Why do I have guidance on here?"  
  
"Our school counselor–"  
  
"I don't need a counselor." He interrupts.  
  
"St–Your _godfather_ recommended it." Mr. Morita raises an eyebrow.  
  
That _little_–Harley's going to kill him.  
  
"Mrs. Chavez is one of our best. I'll think you'll enjoy her company." Mr. Morita continues, oblivious to Harley's murder plans. "It'll be every other day, so you'll meet with her on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays."  
  
"Right."  
  
"The bell is going to ring soon. I hope you have a good day, Mr. Keener."  
  
"Yeah." He rises from his chair slowly, his thoughts still focused on his schedule. "You too, thanks."  
  
Outside, Harley shows Peter and Ned the sheet. To his surprise, they both gloss over the guidance aspect, more focused on the classes they share or don't share.  
  
"Hey!" Ned exclaims. "You'll have English with MJ, lucky you!"  
  
"MJ?" Harley repeats, trying to ignore the last class on his roster.  
  
"A friend." Peter clarifies, handing the paper back. "And a literary genius, so try to partner up with her as much as you can."  
  
"_Aww_," He pouts playfully. "I'll almost miss sharing all my classes with you, Parker."  
  
Peter rolls his eyes. "Good thing we still share biology, chemistry, physics, and calculus, right?"  
  
"Four out of eight isn't bad." Harley nudges him.  
  
Classes aren't too bad. He spends most of them reintroducing himself and having the teacher attempt to catch him up before realizing that he's already finished the worksheet before the rest of the class.  
  
Above all, he's surprised to find that his favorite classes are the ones he shares with Peter. There's an unspoken competition between them to answer any questions first that leaves the teachers bewildered and the students amused, if not vaguely annoyed in the case of Flash.  
Harley's having fun though, so it's easy to ignore the bully's reddening face in favor of Peter's slowly growing smile.  
  
By lunchtime, he's maneuvering past the seats that have been opened up to him (deja vu), and setting his tray down at Ned and Peter's table.  
  
Before he even gets a word out, a girl appears at his side. She swipes the apple off of Peter's tray before settling down a couple of feet from him on the bench.  
  
So. That just happened.  
  
"Peter hates apples," Ned says in reply to whatever expression Harley's wearing.  
  
"_Hate_ is a strong word." Peter frowns, picking up a carrot stick. "More like, _dislikes_."  
  
Harley stares at the girl, taking in smooth, warm brown skin and curly dark hair pulled haphazardly into a bun. She already has a book opened in her lap.  
  
"Um. MJ?" He chances, noting Peter and Ned's frantic shaking heads at the last minute.  
  
"_Michelle_." She corrects coolly. She doesn't bother to look up.  
  
"Right. Sorry about that." He tries again. "I'm Harley."  
  
"I know." She says, monotone. "You're in my English class, remember?"  
  
He laughs awkwardly. "Yeah, must've slipped my brain."  
  
"Hmm." She hums noncommittally.  
  
Silence.  
  
"_So_..." Harley begins, scrambling for something to say, and thankfully Ned catches on and clears his throat.  
  
"You were pretty cool in shop class today. I'm like 90% sure that was the first time Mr. Hapgood's ever taken an active interest in one of his students." He frowns, briefly lost in thought. "Except for when he's reminding us to not cut off our fingers, that is."  
  
"Thanks." He smiles confusedly. "I think."  
  
"Nevermind that. Did you guys see Flash's face today in bio?" Peter sighs blissfully. "Pure gold. You coming here might actually be a good thing."  
  
"Well, I strive for your approval, Parker."  
  
The conversation continues between the three of them until the lunch bell rings and Michelle leaves with a quick goodbye that feels mostly directed at Peter and Ned.  
  
"I don't think she likes me." He admits to Parker after they drop Ned off at his next class. Peter waves bye to his best friend before fully focusing on him with a slight frown of confusion.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Black Widow." He rolls his eyes. "Michelle. Who else?"  
  
"Oh, that." Peter shrugs, visibly unconcerned. "She's like that with everyone."  
  
"Not you and Ned." He side-steps a drone that nearly hits him in the face. "She couldn't have been more clear about that."  
  
"MJ's not the most talkative person," Peter reassures, shouldering his backpack. "Don't take it too hard that she didn't talk to you."  
  
"Still."  
  
"Give her time." Peter nudges his shoulder. "Honestly, Ned and I've known her since the seventh grade and it was only in our sophomore year that she admitted that we were her friends."  
  
"Where does that leave me?" Harley grumbles, unsure why he's even taking it this hard.  
  
"It leaves you in front of Ms. Chavez's office," Peter replies, turning on his heel to face him fully and Harley blinks to realize that he's near the front of the school again. They stand in front of a door that sits a couple of tiles down from the main office.  
  
"Parker..." He begins.  
  
"She's not as bad as you think," Peter says with a smile Harley assumes is supposed to be reassuring.  
  
It's not.  
  
He scoffs and crosses his arms. "Forgive me if I don't think so."  
  
The late bell rings and Peter sends him an apologetic smile. "I have to go. See you later?"  
  
Harley sighs. "Sure."  
  
Parker jogs down the hall and disappears around a corner, leaving Harley to stand in front of the guidance counselor's office and stare down the nameplate above the door: _America Chavez, Guidance Counselor_.  
  
A teacher walking by reminds him to get to class and he waits until she's turned the corner to turn around and walk in the other direction.

* * *

  
The librarian barely spares him a glance as he walks in, allowing Harley to move between the bookshelves idly until he catches a glimpse of a mop of brown curls.  
  
He takes a deep breath and tells himself that he is not nervous before sliding into the seat across from Michelle.  
  
"Can I ask you a question?"  
  
She looks up and frowns. "Harley. Go away."  
  
"It won't' take long, I promise." He smiles winningly. "You don't even have to answer."  
  
"Goody," Michelle replies dryly and Harley takes that as her go ahead.  
  
"You don't like me." It's not a question.  
  
"That's not a question."  
  
"Why not?" He clarifies.  
  
She scoffs, turning another page of her book. "I don't know you enough to like or not like you."  
  
The light from the window catches on the hollow of her neck, sparkling off a jeweled black flower he hadn't noticed before. It doesn't seem like it should fit with her ripped jeans, worn converse, and loose shirt, but somehow it does. "But you don't." He nods at her neck. "I like your necklace."  
  
"I like it too," MJ says, touching it briefly. She seems to really look at him then, her gaze suddenly sharpened by interest. "It shouldn't matter what I think of you."  
  
He knows that. _Obviously_. But still. "Is it because of Peter?" He persists. "Because we're practically BFFs now."  
  
She snorts.  
  
"Okay, we're more like acquaintances that have just learned to tolerate each other, but still."  
  
"Peter doesn't have anything to do with this."  
  
Somehow Harley doubts that, but he thinks it's probably wiser to keep that thought to himself.  
  
"In that case, how do I get into your good graces?"  
  
"Shouldn't. Matter." She punctuates each word with a page flip. At this point, Harley thinks the book is just for aesthetics.  
  
He throws his hands up. "Then how do I know if I'm intruding or not? I don't want to split up your little friend group or whatever. Also–" He takes another deep breath and allows some sincerity to bleed through. "Also I'm trying to do right by Parker after being an utter douche to him and he seems to like you a lot."  
  
A moment of silence.  
  
"Well, you _have_ been a douche." Michelle finally says. She sounds reluctant when she adds, "I heard what you did to Flash, though. That was cool."  
  
"Thanks." Harley blinks in surprise.  
  
She taps her fingers against the cover of her book, deliberating something if her furrowed is any indication, and then, "You're smart, right?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She raises an eyebrow at the question in his voice but continues. "You should join Decathlon. We don't have any open spots or anything, but everyone's required to have an extracurricular."  
  
"Oh, I don't–"  
  
"This is how you get into my good graces, Keener." She interrupts, gathering her books, notes, and a sketchbook with drawings of someone who looks suspiciously like the gym teacher.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"No, but it's a good start." Michelle gets up and throws her backpack over her shoulder, not even sparing him a second glance as she leaves.  
  
To himself he mutters. "That went well."

* * *

  
"She invited you to join Decathlon?" Peter asks, holding the door open for them as a stream of students pours from the front.  
  
"Dude, that's _awesome_!" Ned gushes, skipping down the stone steps. "You could be my spare!"  
  
"Spare?" Harley twirls his keys around his fingers absently.  
  
"Kind of like an understudy?" Ned explains, waving down a white car. "Flash is Peter's. I think it'd be great."  
  
"_And_ if MJ's inviting you, this is the perfect time for the two of you to get to know each other," Peter adds, following him off the sidewalk and into the parking lot.  
  
"I'll think about it," Harley says as Ned's car pulls up.  
  
"Good. Text me when you've made your decision." He performs a complicated set of hand motions with Peter and tips his hat in Harley's direction before sliding into the passenger seat and driving away.  
  
"Do I even want to know what that was?" Harley asks on their way back to his car.  
  
"Secret handshake." Peter shakes his head. "Duh."  
  
"Obviously." Harley smirks. "So is Happy picking you up or...?"  
  
"_Ummmm_, I think I'm going to take the bus today."  
  
"You sure?" He gestures grandiosely towards his new ride. "This bad boy's all mine and I'm offering rides free of charge."  
  
"And risk my neck?" Peter smiles. "No, thank you. I remember how you drive, Harley."  
  
"Like a professional NASCAR driver?"  
  
Peter snorts, crossing his arms. "More like someone being chased by the cops."  
  
He opens his mouth and is interrupted by a faint click. Something flashes out of the corner of his eye and he looks around confusedly before finding the source in a couple of birdwatchers with cameras, necks all craned towards the sky be a couple of feet off of school property.  
  
"Did they just–?" He begins haltingly. "Did you see–?"  
  
Peter's smile flickers, brows furrowing in worry. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I thought I–" He shakes his head. The Netflix-induced sleep deprivation must be creeping up on him now. "Nevermind."  
  
Peter's watch beeps and he glances at it. "I should go. Thanks again for the ride."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Harley opens the driver's door and tosses his backpack to the passenger seat before sliding in. As he pulls out of the parking lot and glances at the birdwatchers, he tries to shake off the eerie feeling of being watched.

* * *

  
"How was school?" Tony asks when he walks in. The mechanic's shirt and hands are covered in grease and there's a duffle bag on the kitchen counter.  
  
"Good. Great." He shrugs his jacket off and throws it over the back of a chair. "Could've been better if I didn't have freaking _guidance counseling_ as a class."  
  
Tony winces. "Harley."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's one of the conditions of you staying here. A monthly report from her instead of monthly visits from the states."  
  
He scowls. "You could've lied, you know."  
  
"I know. Here." He slides the bag towards him. "I should've given them sooner. But maybe this makes up for the whole thing?"  
  
Harley raises an eyebrow but unzips the bag. Inside is not only his potato gun, but several rolled-up blueprints with his handwriting and notes.  
  
"Are we good?" Tony peers at him, curiously. "Is that your '_I'm going to hate you forever for your betrayal_' face, or...?"  
  
"No, it's–" Harley laughs a little, blinking away the wetness that rises unbidden to his eyes. "You got them right on time. Thank you."  
  
Tony shrugs and takes a sip from his mug. "No big deal."  
  
"No, not just that. For everything." Harley hates himself a little at that moment. For not telling him he skipped his first session with Ms. Chavez. But as dark brown eyes soften into chocolate, he finds he doesn't particularly care.  
  
"You're welcome, kid. Now, c'mon. Show me what homework you've got today. Pepper wants it done before we do anything fun."  
  
The camera flash is soon nothing but a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think? I'm trying to soften Harley's personality a bit, now that he's with Tony, and I hope he isn't too out of character. He still has a long way to go.
> 
> Also: Abbie or Abby? Let me know!


	11. In Which Peter Gets a New Chauffeur (And Flash Still Hates Him)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So it's like...A-Team for uber-nerds?" Harley summarizes, coating his carrot stick in a generous amount of ranch before tossing it in his mouth.
> 
> "Yes."
> 
> "No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, huh? I would be lying if I said I was satisfied with this chapter, but at this point, I need to move on and just post what I have! I split this chapter in two and will be posting the latter half hopefully soon.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!!!!

As far as ideas go, it's certainly not Tony's worst.

Doesn't mean Peter has to _like_ it, though.

"I thought _Happy_ was his chauffeur." Harley points out after Tony explains their new dynamic, voicing the same thoughts Peter's too taken aback to say aloud.

It's Friday morning, nearly a week after Harley's been enrolled at Midtown, and Peter's world is still trying to re-align itself to the new boy's presence. At the very least, there's a balance now. A delicate one, but balance, nevertheless. They feel cool with each other, maybe even close to becoming friends.

Of course _Tony_ feels the need to throw a wrench in the whole process.

"He is and he is not," Tony says in lieu of an actual answer.

Harley rolls his eyes. "And that means?"

"It _means_ that when Happy and I are out of town, you're in charge of driving Peter to SI to work on his internship. When his shift's over, you'll pick him up."

Harley looks so disgruntled that Peter finds himself saying, "Why don't I take the bus? Or subway? I have before. It's never been a problem."

"If I wanted you on the bus, Pete, I wouldn't have called you up here at the asscrack of dawn talk about this." Tony leans back against the counters. "May's already greenlighted it. Happy's obviously ecstatic. It's up to you guys now."

Harley and Peter exchange looks and then tear their eyes away from each other.

Tony notices because _of course_ he does and gives a wry smile. "I'm sorry, are you guys still not friends?"

"Yeah, sure–"

"I _guess_ we are–"

Tony looks thoroughly amused and that seems to be the push Harley needs because he suddenly sighs and rubs a hand up-and-down his face. "This conversation is painful and boring, my two least favorite things. Parker, I'm cool if you're cool."

"I'm cool." Peter replies, and then because he's awkward and his mouth still doesn't quite know how to work he adds, "I'm super cool."

"Good. Great." He swipes his keys off the counter. "Let's go."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't!" Tony calls after him. "Or any–"

"–Or anything you would! Yeah, I get it." Harley barely spares a glance back, but his voice sounds fond.

"Right," Peter gets off his stool and throws his backpack on. "Bye, Mr. Stark."

"It's To–"A heavy sigh as Tony cuts himself off and hands him his textbook. "Nevermind. Keep him out of trouble for me?"

"Of course." Because Peter could never refuse Tony. He hesitates before cautiously broaching, lowering his voice, "Does your trip to D.C. have anything to do with the Accords?"

"Maybe." Tony raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Nothing, I've just been thinking..."

"Well, that's dangerous," Tony smirks. "Nothing good ever comes from thinking, take it from me."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Says the owner of a multi-million dollar technology company. Let me finish?"

"Yeah, sorry. Hurry, before Harley starts getting antsy."

"Am I going to have to sign it? Once it's been revised and all that? I just can't imagine Secretary Ross just ignoring me after...after everything that happened with the others and Vulture and...yeah."

Tony's humor fades from his face, something heavy replacing it.

It makes Peter feel uncomfortable. "What?"

"Pete, I don't think–"

"Parker, are you coming?" Harley interrupts from what sounds like the elevator. "I'm not _actually_ being paid to drive you around. _Let's go_."

"Yeah, almost done," Tony reassures him without looking from Peter. "We'll talk about this later today, yeah?"

Peter frowns but nods. "Yeah."

"See you soon, bud." He ruffles his hair and turns around with a mug in hand, leaving the kitchen.

"Took you long enough?" Harley says when he gets in. "What did Tony want?"

"A blood oath that I would keep you out of trouble. It took some time."

Harley snorts, taking his weirdness in stride. "I'll bet."

"I'm sorry you had to do this," Peter feels the need to say when the elevator stops in the garage. "I could always take the subway and we could keep it a secret."

"I wouldn't have if I didn't want to, Parker. Don't worry about it." Harley fumbles with the keys and the doors unlock with a small chirp. "We have like twenty minutes until first bell. You wanna swing by a Starbucks or something?"

"Um."

"I promise to drive slower this time."

Peter sincerely doubts that's even possible, but he reaches for the passenger door. "Sure. Okay."

Several minutes and nearly run red lights later, they're rolling into a drive-thru.

"May I take your order?"

Harley's window pulls down. "Yes. Can we have–"

Peter orders the biggest, sweetest, most calorie-dense dessert-in-a-cup coffee on the menu. And a giant chocolate-chocolate-chip muffin for Ned and him to split. He needs it after Mr. Stark's weirdness.

Harley orders an Americano. No cream, no sugar because he and Mr. Stark are the same that way. Just another thing that connects them.

(He's desperately trying not to feel too bitter about that. It's just _coffee_, for goodness sakes.)

Peter's still not sure what he's expecting now that Harley's staying with Tony.

The line has never been clear with him, more of a half-hidden mess of a zig-zag than anything concrete. They're enemies, and then they're not. They're friends, and then they're not. They're...whatever he and Spider-Man are to each other and then...Actually, scratch that.

That's the one relationship Peter doesn't have to question. Mostly because he has no idea how to define it other than Harley blatantly flirting with a mutant while also trying to figure out what makes him tick.

And he knows it's not Harley's fault completely. Knows that considering what he went through in Rose Hill, he's more than reserved the right to be distant, closed-off, and more prickly than a porcupine on crack.

But things are different now, and Peter can't help but wonder what that means for them if anything at all.

In the beginning, he would've said it meant a new rival. Someone with whom he would have to compete with for the top spot in class, the school, life, and perhaps most important of all, Tony's attention.

Suffice to say, Peter can confidently admit that is no longer the case.

A friend, then. But it's different with Harley than it is with Ned or MJ. Their friendship is one of circumstance, a desire to make Tony happy, and knowing some of the worst things about each others' lives and even then, Harley seems to have the short end of the stick there.

They're trying, though. Harley's not nearly as barbed in nature as Peter remembers and in turn, Peter tries not to cower from him.

"Here, you go." The barista says with a smile.

"Thank you," Harley pays and winks as he takes their cups through the drive-thru window, causing the other girl to giggle.

Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes and smiles his thanks as they pull the car around and back onto the street.

"Would it kill you to not make eyes at everything that breathes in your direction?" He asks, licking the whip-cream at the top of his cup.

"Maybe."

"And Flash?" Because apparently _that_ was a thing now.

"What? It's _fun_." Harley shrugs with a grin. "Half the time he doesn't know if he wants to get mad or flustered. It's a win-win for both of us."

"Until he decides it's my fault regardless and tries to make my life more miserable." Peter reminds him.

"He wouldn't do that with me around."

"You're not always around."

Harley frowns at that and Peter clears his throat, suddenly desperate to change the conversation.

"Do remember what you got for question three on the chem worksheet?"

* * *

  
The novelty of a new student hasn't quite worn off yet on the class population, but at the very least, lunch is starting to feel like a normal affair again

"So it's like...A-Team for uber-nerds?" Harley summarizes, coating his carrot stick in a generous amount of ranch before tossing it in his mouth.

"Yes."

"No."

Peter and Ned exchange scandalized looks.

Harley snorts and eats another carrot.

"Academic Decathlon is _way_ cooler than A-Team!" Ned exclaims, leaning forward to explain himself. "We go on trips, we get cool jackets, we're basically the jocks of this place."

Harley raises an eyebrow, looking deeply unimpressed. "No offense, but that isn't an accomplishment here. You have more people lined up to join band than football."

"Well, it also looks good on college apps, not to mention another chance to showcase how smart you are." Peter adds with a shrug before ribbing gently, "We both know there aren't enough classes in the school day to satisfy your need to always be right."

Harley grins at that. "You're just mad Ms. Williams called on me first in calc."

Peter pretends to look unaffected. "Doesn't matter. You were wrong."

"By like a decimal place." Harley rolls his eyes. "And she didn't seem to care as she gaped in amazement."

"You sure it wasn't horror?" Peter teases.

"All right," Ned interrupts, trying and failing to hide his own snickers, and Peter feels his face warm for some reason when MJ raises an eyebrow at him over his book.

_What?_ Harley's easy to talk to. Sue him.

"We're getting off-topic," Harley says like it wasn't him who diverted the conversation, to begin with. "Michelle? What do you think?"

"I think you're all morons." She turns a page.

"Well, that's a given," Harley agrees easily. "C'mon, you invited me. Now convince me."

"You know I don't actually care if you show, right?"

Harley makes a wounded noise and presses a hand to his chest as if shot. "And after all that time we've been spending together?"

"Is that what we're calling intruding on my personal time during free period? '_Spending time together_'?"

"Admit it: I'm wearing you down, aren't I?"

MJ scoffs in derision, but Peter can't help but notice that she sits a little closer to Harley than she did on Monday. That and her initial hostility towards him has been tamped down considerably. Peter wonders how Harley made that happen.

"I despise you." She deadpans.

"Didn't answer my question." Harley sings.

She glares at him and Harley scowls back exaggeratedly, amusement glinting in his blue eyes.

"Come today, at least?" Ned pleads, hands clasped on the table. "To see what it's like?"

Harley sighs but then shrugs. "Sure, man. Why not?"

When lunch ends, Harley jogs out with MJ, and Peter runs their talk through his head again.

"Hey, doesn't MJ spend her free period in the library?"

"Yeah, sometimes." Ned tugs on his backpack. "Why?"

Peter frowns slightly. "No reason."

(The guidance counselor's room is in the opposite direction.)

* * *

At the end of the school day, Peter finds Harley already set up in the practice room with MJ, rocking back on his heels and absently chewing on the side of his thumb as they approach. Next to him, MJ sits perched on the stage thumbing through a box of flashcards with a concentrated frown, her back pressed against the podium as she tosses one of the cards to the side.

Harley swipes it up, reads it, and smirks.

"For ten points, what is the name of the element created in the early 21st century by inventor Tony Stark?" He leans forward like a gameshow host, hand wrapped around an imagined microphone. "This is a tricky one so take your time. You get three chances."

"Gosh, it's on the tip of my tongue." Peter pretends to be in deep thought. "Plutonium?"

"_Err_."

"Um, gold?"

"Nope, but he sure acts like he did invent it, huh?" Harley winks.

"It's vibranium, right?" Ned intercedes, bumping Peter's shoulder playfully.

"_Err_." Harley bleeps.

"Wait, wha–?"

"While those are all excellent guesses, I'm afraid the answer is _Egomanium_." Harley grins. "Although some theorize that Mr. Stark may have discovered the elusive element far before the 21st century."

Ned snaps his fingers."Oh, so close!"

"Does Mr. Stark know you're smearing his name like that?" Peter asks, plucking the card from Harley's grip.

"You gonna tell him?" He challenges.

"I'm surrounded by idiots." MJ sighs, throwing aside another card.

The doors open before Harley can say anymore, Mr. Harrington and the rest of the team arriving as the last school bell of the day rings.

The excited chattering stills for a brief moment as they take stock of Harley, the door falling shut behind them with a heavy clang.

Flash is the first to speak, outrage tinting his brown skin red. "_Hey_, he can't be here!"

Harley raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk slowly taking form, and after another beat of surprised silence from everyone else, Betty approaches him first, perfectly manicured nails already outstretched in greeting.

"Betty Brant." She introduces herself.

"You're the one on the tv every morning, right?" Harley shakes her hand.

Betty preens at the recognition, flipping a sheet of blonde hair over her shoulder. "I am, yes. Harley Keener?"

His smile turns lopsided. "The one and only."

"We should schedule an interview sometimes. We haven't gotten a new kid in forever."

"What about Daniel?" Cindy asks as she walks past with Abe. She sets their stuff on the floor and Abe helps her up onto the stage. "He's been here for like a year and you haven't said a word to him."

"Because he's _weird_, Cindy!" Betty snaps, her cool demeanor hilariously ruffled in a way only Cindy has managed to perfect and still remain her friend. "And I don't want to be trapped in the studio with one of Jason's weirdo friends again."

Her head snaps back to Harley and she smiles again. Harley raises an eyebrow at the sudden switch. "Well?"

"Thanks, but I'm going to have to pass." Harley shrugs and he almost looks apologetic. "The mysterious cowboy thing I have going on is kind of my aesthetic."

"Hmm...Well, tell me if you change your mind." As she moves to her spot on the stage, Betty throws a mega-watt smile over her shoulder. "Hey, Ned."

"Hey, Betty."

The look between them, however brief, is loaded and MJ mutters something like, "Oh, brother," while Harley nudges Ned with his shoulder. "Is that your girlfriend, Leeds? What the hell?"

Peter comes to a spluttering, red-faced Ned's rescue, pushing Harley forward gently. "Why don't you go introduce yourself to everyone, okay?"

"Fine." He smirks at Ned as he shuffles away. "But this conversation isn't over."

"_Ugh_, kill me now." Ned groans in embarrassment.

"I will if you don't sit down." MJ replies, and then, just so there's no mistaking the steel in her tone, "Go."

Introductions are quick and easy, everyone charmed by Harley in the thirty seconds they officially meet him.

Well, almost everyone.

"Mr. Harrington, we don't need another member, right?" Flash complains as everyone takes their seats. "We're already full."

"Well," Mr. Harrison straightens his glasses. "Michelle is the captain and she can recruit as she sees fit."

Abraham rings the bell. "That is correct!"

"I like him," Harley whispers to Peter, then louder. "I like you."

"Abe, we've had the conversation about the bell." Mr. Harrington reprimands the grinning boy with a sigh. "MJ, whenever you're ready. Flash, please go take your seat. You too, Peter."

Flash scowls but does as he says, glaring at Peter as if he's the reason Harley's there.

"Wow, you weren't kidding," Harley whispers to him.

"Nope." He stands up to join the others on stage. "See you in a bit."

"Ok." MJ pulls out a card. "Let's start."

Thirty minutes in and Peter's starting to think the MJ only invited Harley to AcaDeca for the sole purpose of pissing off Flash.

Though Harley mostly keeps to himself, making the slight comment here or there, his presence seems to slowly infuriate Flash more and more until:

"We haven't even tested him yet! How can we just let him in like that?"

MJ sighs and narrows her eyes at Flash, visibly unhappy to be interrupted.

She stalks across the stage, takes Flash's bell, and sets it down in front of Harley with a thump.

"Wha–?" He begins, but MJ doesn't let him get far.

"In atmospheres, what is the equivalent of 760 millimeters of Mercury?"

Hesitance and then _ding_. "1 atm."

"Which element of the periodic table is named after the sun?"

_Ding_. "Helium."

"What two metals form the alloy white gold?"

_Ding_. "Gold and silver."

"Do I need to go on?" MJ asks Mr. Harrington.

The teacher shakes his head and clears his throat. "Nope. Harley, you seem like you'd be an excellent spare."

The young mechanic grins, "Thanks."

"Any objections?" Mr. Harrington asks.

Everyone turns to Flash who sinks lower in his seat, face mutinous. Harley winks at him and Peter squashes the feeling in his chest that feels disconcertingly close to pride.

"Welcome to the team, loser," MJ smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- On a completely unrelated note: I've watched the Hamifilm like twenty times now and I'm obsessed.❤️❤️❤️
> 
> \- Writer's block is an utter b*tch. I re-wrote this chapter so many times and I wouldn't even be surprised if I took this down and reposted it again. I probably won't though. I want to move on. 😁
> 
> \- Did y'all know that Cindy and Abe and the rest of them weren't dusted like the main cast? Apparently they graduated according to wiki. Crazy, right?
> 
> \- Slow-burn is sooooo hard. I just want them together, and I want to introduce Harry and Osborne, and ughhhhhh...Patience is a virtue, guys!
> 
> \- Inspired by Problem/Solution: Keener Edition by enzhe


	12. In which there's an author's note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, what did I miss? *awkward jazz hands*

*_Walks into fic casually and tries to pretend she was there the entire time_* 

He-Hey, guys! How are we doing? Good? That’s good, that’s good...So, um, I can explain.

In all seriousness, how are you guys doing? 2020 has been absolutely bonkers, and I want to let you all know you can totally get through this and you’re all awesome.

First things first: Thank you so much for your support, comments, and kudos on this fic. They really do make a difference, and I can’t thank you guys enough.

Second: This is **NOT** a hiatus announcement or anything of the sort (I feel like that got through pretty clear without saying anything *heh heh, _ahem_, sorry*), but rather an explanation and a plan.

Third: 2020 was a weird year for me creatively. There were these long bouts of writer’s block and moments where I honestly just hated my writing so I wouldn’t even try to get better or write at all. The downside, however, is that the only way to get better at writing is to write, so...hear I am. I’m going to work on it.

Fourth: I’ve been re-reading this fic and it is _not_ good. It’s not bad, just not good. I’m planning on making some major revisions to everything--the plot, character development, etc, etc. I’m thinking of 31-ish chapters for NaNoWriMo, and I’ve already extensively outlined the first 14 chapters, so, yay!

Fifth: This where you guys come in--would you prefer I delete all the chapters and then repost them as they’re changed or create an entire new fic and link it to this old one?

Let me know!

Once again thank you so much for your kudos, comments, and just plain clicking on this fic--be it your first time or your tenth time. I can’t wait to start posting again.

Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> _(Endgame: Remember me?_  
_Me: New phone, who dis?)_
> 
> Tell me what you guys think! Feel free to leave comments and kudos!
> 
> ^_^


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